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YELLED PAUL, AS THE FIRST OF THE 


“HERE THEY COME!’’ 


SOLDIERS CAME INTO VIEW—Page 78. 


The Moving Picture Girls in War Plays. 


‘The 
Moving Picture Girls 


In War Plays 


OR 


The Sham Battles at Oak Farm 


BY 
LAURA LEE HOPE 


99 66 


AUTHOR OF “THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS,” “THE MOVING PIC- 


TURE GIRLS AT SEA,” “THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES,” 
“THE BOBBSEY TWINS SERIES,” “THE BUNNY 
BROWN SERIES,” ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO. 
CLEVELAND NEW YORK 


Made in U.S.A. 


, 


Copyricut, 1916, By a 
GROSSET & DUNLAP 


THE COMMER 


PO ei, 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 
Ora ip NEWSPAPER. oo devs ces wcasccttess I 

Pee toe AIA HARM dG vn Pas vs deve dete ses II 
UMEDA SRV OR cag ode ok oie bc ew dacs ccdee evans 21 
ee GEES oy fate cain bots Ova oy ne caveeve 30 
PAI IER. oe pac cues device veees ven's 40 
ieee AUC EDE LESSON. ws daa se vedas ewes perewed 48 
ere EE EAR. 1 sip s,vidie dbo a ada vlecgreas 61 
re AA SSE ATTACK O02. onc vce ue snes c¥entets 70 
Bee eI SG LOSS cases vj as nh veo bbe cnteese 79 
eee AT VARERY fo ccs cysts eink ews enecss 87 
ee COUPE NGS cc, 5 oy kn ds dc dvew sé siauntesas ey, 
ee ee PT ERUUIPTION.. cali scence e cde ee cweentaad 103 
ee ee ESS. ois discs csc ove 0 0 0b s pa SOS Iil 
ees OP OMORE 65s aides ses ers duane wdeaseea 120 
Oe ee AGG PATAT. LENT. 46 ceciccedacasewavnvcnes 130 
NN De ay ss be ore Laine ed eases yeaeve’ 137 
een ee Ore TORY Fy ae ac os op case ebadacwen ada 143 
Worl WAT CAN Wit Do?” 2... cee Re PEP at ee 149 
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+ : s { ie eee , 
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ORL Te BIG SCRE. 2.) ile vind pai © ny en 
_ XXII Artce Dozs WeLL..... 


De SEMEL VA ‘Bap Fant yeteoe Me oye 


TY, A DenIAL oF IDENTITY. 


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Pee fe REUBION. ct os a4: via eine peices eet ele 





THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS 
IN WAR PLAYS 


CHAPLER <I 
THE OLD NEWSPAPER 


“THERE, I think I have everything in that I'll 
need at Oak Farm.” 

“Everything! Good gracious, Ruth, how quick- 
ly you pack! Why, [ve oceans and oceans of 
things yet to go into my trunk! Oh, there are 
my scout shoes. I’ve been looking everywhere 
for them. Ill need them if I do any hiking in 
those war scenes,” and Alice DeVere dived un- 
der a pile of clothing, bringing to light a muddy, 
but comfortable, pair of walking shoes. “I don’t 
know what I’d do without them,” she murmured. 

‘Alice!’ cried Ruth, her sister, and the shocked 
tone of her voice made the younger girl look up 
quickly from the contemplation of the shoes. 

“Why, what have I done now?” came in rather 
injured accents. “I’m sure I didn’t use any slang; 
and as for not having all my things packed as 
quickly as you, why, Ruth, my dear, you must 

I 


2 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


remember that you are an exception—the one 
that proves the rule.” 

“T didn’t say you used any slang, Alice dear. 
Nor did I intimate that you were behind in your 
packing. I'll gladly help you. But it Those 
shoes!” and she pointed a finger dramatically at 
the “brogans,”’ as Alice sometimes called them. 

“Those shoes? What’s the matter with them? 
They’re a perfectly good pair, as far as I can 
see; and they’re mighty comfortable.” 

“Oh, Alice—mighty ?” 

“Well, I can’t get over using such words, 
especially since we heard so many strong expres- 
sions from the sailors when we were in those sea 
films. Mine sound weak now. But what’s the 
matter with the shoes, Ruth?” 

“They’re so muddy, dear. They will soil all 
your pretty things if you put them in your trunk 
in that condition. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“T should say not—most decidedly! Especially 
since pretty things with me last about one day. I 
don’t see how it is you keep yours so nice and 
fresh, Ruth.” 

“It’s because I’m careful, dear.” 

“Careful! Bosh! Care killed a cat, they say. 
I’m sure I’m careful, too Oh, here’s that lace 
collar I’ve been looking everywhere for!” 

She made a sudden reach for it, there was a 








THE OLD NEWSPAPER 3 


ripping, tearing sound, and Alice was gazing rue- 
fully at a rent in the sleeve of her dress. 

“Oh, for the love of trading stamps!’ she 
ejaculated. 

“Alice!” gasped Ruth. 

“Well, I don’t care! I had to say something. 
Look at that rip! And I wanted to wear this 
dress to-day. Oh > 

“That’s just it, Alice,” interrupted Ruth, in a 
gentle, chiding voice. “You are too impulsive. 
If you had reached for that lace less hurriedly 
you wouldn’t have torn your dress. And if you 
took care of your things and didn’t let your laces 
and ribbons get strewn about so, they would last 
longer and look fresher. I don’t want to lec- 
ture “ 

“T know you don’t, you old dear!” and Alice 
leaned over—they were both sitting on the floor 
in front of trunks—and made a motion as though 
to embrace her sister. But a warning rip caused 
her to desist, and, looking over her shoulder, she 
found her skirt caught on a corner of the trunk. 

ei2nete) {Did you ever?” she cried. “I can't 
even give you a sisterly hug without pulling my- 
self to pieces. I’m all upset—excited—nonstrung 
—Wellington Bunn doing Hamlet isn’t to be com- 
pared to me. I must get straightened out.” 

“T guess that’s it—you’re all tangled up in your 








4 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


packing,” said Ruth, with a laugh. “Truly, I 
don’t mean to lecture, Alice, but you must go a 
bit slower.” 

“Not with this packing—lI can’t, and be ready 
in time. Why! you are all prepared to go. I'l 
just throw the things into my trunk and 4 

“Now, don’t do that. Don’t throw things in, 
You can put in twice as much if you lay the things 
in neatly. Til help you. But—oh, dear a 

Ruth made a gesture of despair. 

“What’s the matter now? What are you reg- 
istering?’’ and Alice used the moving picture 
term for depicting one of the standard emotions. 
The girls were both moving picture actresses. 

“I’m trying to register dismay at the muddy 
state of those scout shoes, as you call them, Alice. 
They may be nice and comfortable, as you say, 
and really they do look so. And I have no doubt 
you will find them useful if we have to do much 
_tramping over the hills of Oak Farm. But mh 

“Oh, we'll have to do plenty of hiking, as Russ 
Dalwood warned us,” Alice put in. “You know, 
there are to be several Civil War plays filmed, 
and they didn’t have automobiles or motor cycles 
to get about on in those days. So we'll have to 
walk. And it will be over rough ground, so I 
thought these shoes would be just the thing.” 

“They will, Alice. I must get a pair myself, | 











THE OLD NEWSPAPER 5 


think. But I was just wondering how you got 
them so terribly muddy. How did you?” 

“Oh, Paul Ardite and I were in that Central 
Park scene the other day. You know, ‘A Daugh- 
ter of the Woods,’ and some of the scenes were 
filmed in the park. It was muddy, and I didn’t 
get a chance to have the brogans cleaned, for i 
had to jump from the park into the ballroom 
scene of ‘His Own Enemy,’ and there was no 
time. We had to retake in that scene because 
one of the extras was wearing white canvas shoes 
instead of ballroom slippers, and the director 
didn’t notice it until the film was run out in the 
projection room. 

“So that accounts for the mud on the shoes, 
Ruth. But I suppose I can ’phone down to the 
janitor and have him send them out to the Italian 
at the corner. He'll take the mud off.” 

“No, I don’t know that you can do that, Alice. 
We haven’t any too much time. If I had an old 
newspaper, I could wrap the shoes up in that for 
you, and pack them in the bottom of your trunk. 
Then the mud wouldn’t soil your clothes.” 

“An old newspaper? Here’s a stack of them. 
Daddy just brought them from his room. Guess 
he’s going to throw them away.” 

Alice reached up to a table and lifted the top 
paper from a pile near the edge. She opened it 


* 


6 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


with a flirt of her hand and was about to wrap 
the muddy shoes in it when some headlines on 
one page caught her attention. She leaned eagerly 
forward to read them, and spent more than a 
minute going over the article beneath. 

“Well,” remarked Ruth finally, with a smile, 
“if you’re going to do that, Alice, you'll never 
get packed. What is it that interests you?” 

“This, about a missing girl. Why, look here, 
Ruth, there’s a reward of ten thousand dollars 
offered for news of her! Why, I don’t remember 
seeing this before. Look, it’s quite startling. A 
San Francisco girl—Mildred Passamore—mys- 
teriously disappears while on a train bound for 
Seattle—can’t find any trace of her—parents dis- 
tracted—they’ve got detectives on the trail—go- 
ing to flood the country with photographs of her 
~all sorts of things feared—but think of it!— 
ten thousand dollars reward!’ 

“Let me see,” and in spite of the necessity for 
haste in the packing, Ruth DeVere forgot it for 
the moment and came to look over her sister’s 
shoulder to read the account of the missing Cali- 
fornia girl. 

“It is strange,” murmured Ruth. “TI don’t re- 
member about that. I wonder if she could be 
around here? The New York police are won- 
derful in working on mystery cases.” 


¥. 


THE OLD NEWSPAPER 7 


“But the funny part of it is,” said Alice, “that 
I haven’t noticed anything about it in the New 
York papers. Have you? This is a San Fran- 
cisco paper. Naturally they’d have more about it 
than would the journals here. But even the New 
York papers would have big accounts of such a 
case, especially where such a large reward is 
offered.”’ 

“That’s so,” agreed Ruth. “I wonder why we 
haven’t seen an account of it in our papers. I 
read them every day.” 

“What's that? An account of what? Have 
the papers been missing anything?” asked a deep, 
vibrating voice, and an elderly man came into the 
girls’ room and regarded them smilingly. 

“Oh, hello, Daddy!” cried Alice, blowing him 
a kiss. “I’m almost ready.” 

“Hum, yes! You look it!’ and he laughed. 

“It’s this, Daddy,” went on Ruth, holding out 
the paper. “We were going to wrap Alice’s 
muddy shoes in this sheet, when we happened to 
notice an account of the mysterious disappear- 
ance of a Mildred Passamore, of San Francisco, 
for whom ten thousand dollars reward is offered. 
There has been nothing in the New York papers 
about it.” 

Mr. DeVere, an old-time actor, and now em- 
ployed, with his daughters, by a large motion pic- 


8 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


ture concern, reached forth his hand for the 
paper. He gave one look at the article, and then 
_ his eyes went up to the date-line. He laughed. 

“No wonder there hasn’t been anything in the 
New York papers of to-day about this case,” he 
said. “This paper is four years old! But I re- 
member the Passamore case very well. It created 
quite a sensation at the time.” 

“Poor girl! Was she ever found?” asked Ruth. 

“Why, yes; I believe she was,” said Mr. 
DeVere, in rather dreamy tones. He was look- 
sng over other articles in the paper. 

“Who got the reward?” asked Alice. 

“Eh? What's that?’ Her father seemed to 
tome back from a mental journey to the past. 

“T say, who got the reward?” 

“What reward?” 

“Why, Daddy! The one offered for the find- 
ing of Miss Passamore. The girl we just told 
you about—in the paper—ten thousand dollars. 
Don’t you remember ?”’ 

“Oh, yes. I was thinking of something else I 
just read here. Oh, the reward! Well, I suppose 
the police got it. JI don’t remember, to tell you 
the truth. I know that her disappearance at the 
time created quite a sensation.” 

“And are you sure she was found?” 

“Oh, yes, quite sure. Look here!’ and with 


THE OLD NEWSPAPER 9 


a smile on his face he leaned forward, one rather 
fat finger pointing to the article he had just been 
reading. “I was wondering how you girls got 
hold of this old back-number paper, but I see it’s 
one of several I saved because they had printed 
notices of my acting. This is a very good and 
fair criticism of my work when I was appearing 
in Shakespearian drama—a very fair notice, 
ahem!” and Mr. DeVere leaned back in his chair, 
a gratified smile on his face. 

“A fair notice! I should say it was!” laughed 
Alice. “It does nothing but praise you, and says 
the others offered you miserable support.” 

“Well, it was fair to me,’ said Mr. DeVere. 
“Yes, I remember that tour very well. We were 
in California at the time of this Miss Passamore’s 
disappearance. Helen Gordon was my leading 
lady then. Ah, yes, that was four years ago.” 

“No wonder there wasn’t anything in to-day’s 
New York papers,’ said Alice. “Well, let me 
wrap up my shoes, and I'll try to have this pack- 
ing done in time to get out to Oak Farm.” 

“Yes, I just stopped in to see how you were 
coming on,” put in her father. “Mr. Pertell wants 
to get started, and it won’t do to disappoint him. 
There are to be several thousand men and horses 
in the production, and the bill for extras will be 
heavy.” 


10 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Tll hustle along, Daddy!” cried Alice. “Do 
. you want that paper ?”’ 

“No, you may take it. I'll just tear out this 
page with the theatrical notice of myself.” 

He handed the remainder of the paper to his 
daughter, who, with the help of her sister, 
wrapped up the muddy shoes. 

Then the girls proceeded with the putting in of 
other articles and garments that would be needed 
during their stay at Oak Farm. 

“T wonder ” began Alice, when there came 
a knock on their door, and a voice demanded: 

“T say, girls!—are you there?” 

“Yes, Russ. Come on in!’ answered Alice. 

“Oh, and with the room looking the way it is!” 
remonstrated Ruth. 

“Can’t be helped. Russ knows what packing 
is,” Alice declared, as a tall, good-looking young 
man entered. 

“Come on!” he cried. “‘No time to lose.” 

“What’s the matter? Is the place on fire?” 
asked Ruth. 

“No. But there’s got to be a retake in that 
last scene of ‘Only a Flivver,’ and Mr. Pertell 
sent me to get you. It won’t take long, but they’re 
in a hurry for it. Comeon! Paul is waiting out- 
side in the machine and I’ve got the camera. 
Hustle!” 





CHAPTER II 
OFF FOR OAK FARM 


“Wat's that, Russ? A retake?’ asked Alice. 

“Yes, of that auto scene in the park.” 

“Ts that the one I’m in?” Ruth inquired. 

“Yes. You’re both in it, and so is Paul. It’s 
the scene where Mr. Bunn is struck by the auto 
mud-guard—not hurt, you know, and you, Ruth, 
jump out to give first aid.” 

“What’s the matter with the scene?’ asked 
Alice. “I certainly struck him all right with the 
mud-guard.” 

“Yes, that part was all right,” Russ admitted. 
Alice had been running the automobile in the 
scene. 

“And didn’t I do my first aid business well?” 
Ruth demanded. 

“Yes,” Russ acknowledged. “Your part came 
out perfect. But just at the critical moment— 
you know, where Mr. Bunn was supposed to think 
he was dying and wanted to right the wrong he 
had done in cutting his daughter off in his will 

II 


12 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


with only a dollar—some boys got in the way of 
the camera. They were outsiders, butting in, the 
way they always do when we film stuff in the 
park. It wouldn’t have been so bad, only one of 
the youngsters began to pull off some funny stuff 
right in range of Mr. Bunn’s agonized face. I 
didn’t see him at the time, or I’d have stopped 
the running of the film. It was only when we 
got it in the projection room that we discovered it. 

“So Mr. Pertell ordered a retake of that one 
scene, and it’s got to be done ina hurry. It won't 
take long. Mr. Bunn will meet us in the park. 
Be sure and wear the same things you had on 
that day. It won’t do to have you get out of 
the auto in one dress, Ruth, and, a second later, 
kneel down beside Mr. Bunn in a gown entirely 
different.”’ 

“All right, Russ, Pll be careful.” 

“Oh, dear! But my packing!” sighed Alice. 
“T’ll never get it done, and we must start for Oak 
Farm fs 

“Mr. Pertell will have to make allowances,” 
said Russ, quickly. “Come on—move the boat! 
You won’t be needed in the real war scenes for a 
couple of days, anyhow, though I suppose there’ll 
be rehearsals. But it can’t be helped. This re- 
take is holding up the whole film, and it’s to be 
released next week.” 





OFF FOR OAK FARM 13 


Delaying only long enough to put on the proper 
dresses and to tell their father where they were 
going, Ruth and Alice DeVere were soon on their 
way to Central Park, where the scene was to be 
filmed, or photographed over again—a “retake,” 
as it is called, the bane alike of camera men and 
directors. 

And while the girls—the moving picture girls 
—are on their way to do over a bit of work, I 
shall take the opportunity of telling my new read- 
ers something about Ruth and Alice DeVere. 

I have called them just what they are: “The 
Moving Picture Girls,’ and that is the title of 
the first volume of this series, which depicts them 
and their adventures. 

Their mother had died some years previously, 
leaving them to the care of their father, Hosmer 
DeVere, at one time a talented actor in the legiti- 
mate drama. But a throat affection forced him 
to give up his acting and, at the opening scene in 
the first volume, we find him and his daughters 
in rather straitened circumstances, living in a sec- 
ond-rate apartment house in New York. 

Across the hall dwelt Russ Dalwood, with his 
mother. Russ was a “camera man.” That is, he 
took moving pictures in the big studios and out 
of doors for the Comet Film Company, of which 
Mr. Frank Pertell was manager and director. 


14 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


It was Russ who suggested to Mr. DeVere a 
way out of his troubles. He could not act in the 
“legitimate,” as his voice was gone; but no voice 
is needed to appear on the films for the movies, 
since a mere motion of the lips suffices, when any 
speaking is to be done. The “silent drama” has 
been the salvation of many an actor who, if he 
had to declaim his lines, would be a failure. 

At first Mr. DeVere would not hear of acting 
before the camera, but he soon came to know that 
greater actors than he had fallen in line with the 
work, especially since the pay was so large, and 
finally he consented. An account of his success 
and of the entrance of his daughters into the field 
is given in the initial book. 

Ruth, the elder girl, was, like her father, of a 
romantic turn. Also she was rather tall and wil- 
lowy, as Mr. DeVere had been before he had 
taken on flesh with the passing of the years; and 
she was cast for parts that suited her type. She 
was deliberate in her actions, and in “registry.” 

Alice, like her late mother, was warm-hearted 
and impulsive, plump, vivacious and full of fun. 
Both girls were excellent movie actresses. In the 
company they had joined was Mr. Wellington 
Bunn, an old actor, who hoped, some day, to 
appear in Hamlet—Hamlet in the legitimate. 

Paul Ardite, who played light parts, had be- 


OFF FOR OAK FARM 15 


come very fond of Alice. Russ Dalwood had a 
liking for Ruth, and the four had many pleasant 
hours in each other’s company. 

Pearl Pennington was the leading lady at times, 
and was rather disposed to domineer over our 
girls, as was her chum, Laura Dixon. Mrs. 
Maguire was the “mother” of the film company. 
She portrayed old lady parts, and her two grand- 
children, Tommie and Nellie, the orphans, were 
cast for characters suitable to them. 

Carl Switzer, a German-American, did comedy 
parts and was a good fellow, though occasionally 
he would unconsciously say some very funny 
things. His opposite in character was Pepper 
Sneed, the grouch of the company. But Pepper 
could do valuable work, especially as a villain, and 
so he was kept on. As for Pop Snooks, the com- 
pany could not have got along without him. It 
was Pop, the property man of the company, who 
made many of the devices used when the com- 
pany went to “Oak Farm,” as told in the second 
volume, where scenes for farm dramas were 
filmed. Pop could use a drawbridge in one scene, 
and, in the next, convert it into a perfectly good 
cow-barn. Pop was a valuable man. 

There were other members of the company, of 
more or less importance, whom you will meet as 
this story progresses. 


16 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


It was in the third volume of the series, “The 
Moving Picture Girls Snowbound,” that Ruth 
and Alice succeeded in getting “the proof on the 
film’ that saved Mr. DeVere from an unjust 
charge. 

From the cold and frostiness of Deerfield the 
girls went to Florida, where “Under the Palms,” 
many stirring acts were filmed. It was here that 
Alice and Ruth helped find two girls who were 
lost in the wilds of the Everglades. 

“The Moving Picture Girls at Rocky Ranch” 
gave Ruth and Alice a taste of cowboy life, and 
though rivals tried to spoil some of the valuable 
films, they were not altogether successful, even 
though a prairie fire figured in their schemes. 

The girls, with their father, had recently re- 
turned from a perilous trip. This is told about 
in the volume immediately preceding the one you 
are reading—“The Moving Picture Girls at Sea.” 
In that Alice and Ruth proved, not only their 
versatility as actresses, but also that they could 
be brave and resourceful in the face of danger. 
And they more than repaid the old sailor, Jack 
Jepson, who saved their lives, by doing him a 
good turn. 

“Well, life at Oak Farm will be vastly differ- 
ent from that on the Mary Ellen,’ remarked 
Alice, as she looked from the automobile as it 


OFF FOR OAK FARM 17 


swung along through the New York streets on 
the way to the park. 

“Yes,” agreed her sister. “But I like it up 
there.” 

“There are going to be some strenuous times,” 
said Paul. “We've got to do some hustling work.” 
_ “ATI the better,” declared Russ. “I like to keep 
the film running. This sitting about all day and 
reeling off only ten feet makes me tired.” 

“You like action!” laughed Ruth. 

“Yes; and plenty of it.” 

Oak Farm was the property of the Apgars. 
There was Mr. Belix Apgar, the father, Nance, 
his wife, and Sandy, an energetic son. The farm 
was located in New Jersey, about forty miles 
from New York, and it provided a picturesque 
background for the scenes evolved by Mr. Per- 
tell and his company. It was during a scene on 
the farm, some time before, that a valuable dis- 
covery had been made, which endeared the mov- 
ing picture girls and their chums to the Apgars. 

“How did Mr. Pertell come to pick out Oak 
Farm for the war plays?” asked Ruth, as the 
automobile bounced along. 

“Well, I suggested it to him,” answered Russ. 
“Tt remembered the background, and I felt sure 
we could get all sorts of settings there to make 
the proper scenes. There are hills, mountains, 


18 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


valleys, streams, bridges, waterfalls, cliffs and 
caves. Everything needed for perfectly good war 
dramas.” 

“How did they come to want that sort of 
stuff?’ asked Paul. 

“Oh, war stuff is going big now,” Russ an- 
swered. “All this talk of preparedness, you 
know, the war in Europe, and all that. The pub- 
lic is fairly “eating up’ war pictures.” 

“TI hope we don’t have to fire any guns!’ ex- 
claimed Ruth, with a shudder. 

“You'll see and hear plenty of ’em fired,” Russ 
told her. “There are to be some big battle scenes 
and cavalry charges. But one of you will be back 
of the firing line, I believe.” 

“How is that?” asked Alice. 

“Well, one of you girls is to be cast for an 
army nurse, and the other will be a spy. The 
spy has to carry a revolver.” 

“T’m going to be the spy!” cried Alice, impetu- 
ously. “I know how to shoot a gun.” 

“Td rather be the nurse,’ murmured Ruth, and 
truly she was better fitted for that part. 

“*A Girl in Blue and A Girl in Gray’ is to be 
the title of the war play—or at least one of them,” 
went on Russ. “There will be some lively scenes, 
and I’ll be on the jump most of the time.” 

“Are you going to film them all?” asked Paul. 


OFF FOR OAK FARM 19 


“Oh, no. I’m to have several assistants, but 
Pil be in general charge of the camera squad. 
So, girls, look your prettiest.” 

“They always do that,” said Paul. 

“Thank you!’ came in a feminine duet. 

A little later the place where the retake was 
to be made was reached. Mr. Bunn was on hand, 
wearing his air of “Hamletian gloom,” as Alice 
whispered, and the work of retaking the scenes 
was soon under way. 

This time all went well. Alice drove her 
“flivver” at Mr. Bunn, who was properly knocked 
down and looked after by Ruth. No small boys, 
with an exaggerated sense of humor, got in the 
way, and the girls were shortly back in their 
apartment. They had moved to a more preten- 
tious home since their success in moving pictures, 
and the Dalwoods had taken an Sheree in the 
same building. 

“And now to get on with my packing!” sighed 
Alice. “All I am sure of is that I have my ‘bro- 
gans’ in.” 

“Tl help you,” offered Ruth. 

Two days later the Comet Film Company, aug- 
mented for the occasion, was at the depot in 
Hoboken, ready to take the Lackawanna train 
out to Oak Farm, New Jersey, where it nestled in 
the hills of Sussex County. 


20 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T don’t see how they are going to take battle 
scenes with just this company,” observed Alice, 
as she surveyed her fellow workers. “And where 
are the guns and horses?” 

“They'll come up later,” Russ informed her. 
“There are to be two big companies and a couple 
of batteries, but they won’t be on hand until they 
are really needed. It costs too much to keep 
them when they are not working.” 

“Are you all here?’ asked Mr. Pertell hurry- 
ing along the seats with a handful of tickets— 
“counting noses,” so to speak. 

“All here, I think,” answered Russ. 

“Where is Carl Switzer?’ asked the manager. 

“He was here a minute ago,” Alice said. 

“Well, he isn’t here now,” remarked Mr. Bunn. 

“And almost time for the train to start!” ex- 
ploded the director. ‘‘We need him in some of 
the first scenes to-morrow. Get him, somebody!” 

“Hey, Mister! Does yer mean dat funny, 
moon-faced man what talks like a pretzel?” asked 
a newsboy in the station. 

“Yes, that’s Mr. Switzer,” was the answer. 
“Where is he?” 

“T jest seen him go out dat way,” and the boy 
pointed toward the doors leading to the street in 
front of the ferry. This street led over to the 
interned German steamships at the Hoboken piers. 


CHAPTER III 
HARD AT WORK 


“Great Scott!” ejaculated Mr. Pertell. “I 
might have known that if Switzer came anywhere 
near his German friends he’d be off having a 
confab with them. Go after him, somebody! 
It’s only five minutes to train time, and it will 
take those Germans that long to say how-de-do 
to one another, without getting down to busi- 
ness.” 

“Til get him,” offered Paul, hurrying off 
toward the swinging doors. 

“Tl go wit’ youse,” said the newsboy. “TI 
likes t’ listen t’ him talk. Does he do a Dutch 
act?” 

“Sometimes,” laughed Paul. 

“Youse is actors, ain’t youse?” the boy asked. 

“Movies,” answered Paul, hurrying along 
toward the entrance to the shipyards. 

“T wuz in ’em onct,” went on the lad. “Dey 
wuz a scene where us guys wuz sellin’ papes, an’ 
anudder guy comes along, and t’rows a handful 

21 


22 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS. 


of money in de street—he had so much he didn’t 
know what t’ do wit’ it—dat wuz in de picture,” 
he explained. “I wuz in de scene.” 

“Was it real money?” asked Paul. 

“Naw—nottin’ but tin,” and the tone expressed 
the disappointment that had been experienced. 
“But we each got a quarter out of it fer bein’ in 
de picture, so we didn’t make out so worse. 
Dere’s your friend now,’ and the newsboy 
pointed to the comedian standing at the entrance 
to one of the piers, talking to the watchman. Both 
had raised their voices high, and were using their 
hands freely. 

“Hey, Mr. Switzer, come along 
“Tt’s time for the train.” 

“Ach! Der train! I t’ought der vos plenty of 
time. I vant to see a friend of mine who is liv- 
ing on vun of dese wessels. Haven’t I got der 
time?” 

“No, not a minute to spare. You can see him 
when you come back.” 

“Ach! Maybe I neffer comes back. If I get 
in der war plays I may be shotted.” 

“Oh, come on!’ laughed Paul, while the news- 
boy went into amused contortions at the exag- 
gerated language and gestures of Mr. Switzer. 

“See you later, Hans!” called the comedian to 
the watchman at the pier. 


??? 


cried Paul. 


HARD AT WORK 23 


“Ach, Himmel! Vot I care!” the latter cried. 
“T don’t care even if you comes back neffer! You 
can’t get on dose ship!” and he waved his hand 
at the big vessels, interned to prevent their cap- 
ture by the British warships. 

“T was having quite an argument with him,” 
said Mr. Switzer, speaking ‘United States,” as 
he walked back to the station with Paul. 

“Wouldn’t he let you go on board ?” 

“No. Took me for an English spy, I guess. 
But I know one of der officers, and I thought I’d 
have time for a chat with him.” 

“Mr. Pertell is in a hurry,” said the young 
actor. 

“Well, if we miss this train there’s another.” 

“Not until to-morrow, and he wants to start 
the rehearsals the first thing in the morning.” 

“Ach! Den dat’s differunt alretty yet again, 
wasn’t it so?” and Mr. Switzer winked at the ad- 
miring newsboy, and tossed him a quarter, with 
the advice to get a pretzel and use it for a watch 
charm. Whereat the boy went into convulsive 
laughter again. 

“What do you mean, Switzer, by going off just 
at train time?’ demanded the indignant director 
and manager. 

“Train time is der time to go off—so long as 
you don’t go off der track!’ declared the Ger- 


24 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


man. “But I vanted to go on—not go off—I 
vanted to go on der ships only dey vouldn’t let 
me. However, better late than be a miss vot’s 
like a bird in der hand,” and with a shrug of his 
shoulders and a last wink at the newsboy, Mr. 
Switzer went out to the waiting train with the 
others. 

It was a long and rather tedious ride to Oak 
Farm, which lay some miles back in the hills 
from the railroad station, and it was late after- 
noon when the company of moving picture actors 
and actresses arrived, to be greeted by Sandy 
Apgar and his father and his mother. 

“Well, I am glad to see you all again!” cried 
Sandy, shaking hands with Mr. DeVere, the girls 
and the others. “It seems like old times!” 

“We're glad dot you are glad!” declaimed Mr. 
Switzer. ‘“‘Haf you any more barns vot need 
burning down?” 

“Not this time,” laughed Sandy. “One barn- 
burning is enough for me.’”’ A barn, an old one, 
had been destroyed on the occasion of the pre- 
vious visit of the moving picture company—a 
burning barn being called for in one of the scenes. 

Oak Farm was a big place, and, in anticipa- 
tion of the war plays to be enacted there, several 
buildings had been built to accommodate the extra 
actors and actresses, where they could sleep and 


HARD AT WORK 25 


eat. The DeVere girls and the other members 
of the regular company would board at the farm- 
house as they had done before. 

Hard work began early the next day. There 
was much to do in the way of preliminary prepa- 
ration, and Pop Snooks, the property man, with 
a corps of assistants, was in his element. While 
Ruth, Alice and the others were going through a 
rehearsal of their parts without, of course, the 
proper scenic background, the property man was 
setting up the different “sets” needed in the vari- 
ous scenes. 

While they were working on one piece, Sandy 
Apgar came along on his way to look after some 
of the farming operations. 

“Hello!” he cried. “Say! you fellows did that 
mighty quick.” 

“Did what?” asked Alice, who stood near, not 
being engaged for the time being. 

“Why, dug that well. I didn’t know you could 
strike water so soon,” and he pointed to an old- 
fashioned well with a sweep, which stood not far 
from the house. “What’d you use—a post-hole 
digger?” he asked. “What sort of water did you 
strike?” 

Before any one could answer him he strode 
over to the well, and, as he looked down into it, 
a puzzled look came over his face. 


26 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Well, (ll be jiggered!” he cried) © “Tames 

well at all! Only an imitation!” 
- And that was what it was. Some canvas had 
been stretched in a circle about a framework, and 
painted to represent stones. The well itself stood 
on top of the ground, not being dug out at all. It 
made a perfectly good water-scene, with a sweep, 
a chain, a bucket and all. 

“I’m supposed to stand there and draw water . 
for the thirsty soldiers,” explained Ruth, coming 
up at this point. 

“Huh! How are you goin’ to git water out of 
there?” demanded Sandy. “It’s as dry as a bone. 
Why, I’ve got a good well over there,” and he 
_ pointed to a real one, under an apple tree. 

“That’s in the shade—couldn’t get any pictures 
there,” explained Russ. “The well has to be out 
in the open.” 

“But what about water?” asked Sandy. “Hang 
me if I ever heard of a well without water!’ 

“We'll run a hose up to this one,” explained 
Pop Snooks. “A man will lie down behind the 
well-curb, where he won’t show in the camera. 
As fast as Ruth lowers her bucket into the well 
the man’ll fill the pail with water for the soldiers 
to drink. It'll be quicker than a real well, and 
if we find we don’t like it in one place we can 
move it to another. This is a movable well.” 


HARD AT WORK 27 


“Well, I'll be ” began Sandy, but words 
failed him. “This is sure a queer business,” he 
murmured as he strode off. 

The hard work of preparation continued. All 
about the farm queer parts of buildings were 
being erected, extra barns, out-houses, bits of 
fence, and the like. 

In what are called close-up scenes only a small 
part of an object shows in the camera, and often 
when a magnificent entrance to a marble house is 
shown, it is only a plaster-of-Paris imitation of 
a door with a little frame around it. 

What is outside of that would not photograph ; 
so what is the use of building it? Of course in 
many scenes real buildings figure, but they are 
not built for the purpose. 

In one of the war plays a small barn was to 
be shown, and a soldier was supposed to jump 
through the window of this to escape pursuit. 
As none of the regular buildings at Oak Farm 
was in the proper location, Pop Snooks had been 
ordered to build a barn. 

He did. That is, he built one side of it, prop- 
ing it up with braces from behind, where they 
would not show. The window was there, and 
some boards; so that, seen through the camera, it 
looked like a small part of a big out-building. 

Some hay was piled on the ground to one side, 





28 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


away from the camera, and it was on this hay 
that the escaping soldier would land. Then Ruth 
was to come to him, and go through some scenes. 
But these would be interior views, which would 
be taken in the improvised studio erected on the 
farm for this purpose. 

Mr. Switzer was to be the soldier, and would 
plunge through the barn window head first. He 
was called on to rehearse the scenes a few days 
after the semblance of a barn had been put in 
position and the hay laid out to make his landing 
safe. : 

“Are you ready?” asked Mr. Pertell, who was 
directing the scene. ‘“‘All ready, there, Switzer ?” 

“Sure, as ready as I ever shall be.” 

“All right, then. Now, you understand, you 
come running out of those bushes over there, and 
when you get out you stop for a minute and 
register caution. Look on all sides of you. Then 
you see the barn and the open window. Register 
surprise and hope. You say, ‘Ah, I shall be safe 
in there!’ 

“Then you run, look back once or twice to see 
if you are pursued, and make a dive, head first, 
through the open window on to the hay. All 
ready now?” 

“Sure, ’m ready!” 

“How about you, Russ?” 


HARD AT WORK 29 


Let her go.” 

“All ready, then! Camera!” 

Russ began to grind away at the film. Mr. 
Switzer had taken his place in the clump of 
bushes, his ragged Union garments flapping in the 
wind. He came out, looked furtively around, and 
then, giving the proper “registration,” he ad- 
vanced cautiously toward the barn. 

“Go on now—run!” cried Mr. Pertell through 
his megaphone. | 
The German actor ran. He made a beautiful 
leap through the window, and the next moment 

there came from him howls of dismay. 

“Donner vetter! Ach himmel! Ach! My 
face! My hands! Hey, somebody! bring a pail 
of water! Quick!” 


CHAPTER IV 
A REHEARSAL 


MINGLED in German and English came the 
shouts of dismay from Herr Switzer inside the 
dummy shed, through the window of which he 
had leaped on to the hay. 

“Oh, what is it?’ cried Ruth, clasping her 
hands and registering “dismay” unconsciously. 

“He must have fallen and hurt himself,” ejacu- 
lated Alice. ‘‘Do, Paul, go and see what it is.” 

“Stop the camera!” yelled Mr. Pertell through 
his megaphone. “Don’t spoil the film, Russ. You 
got a good scene there. He went through the 
window all right, and his yells won’t register. 
Stop the camera!” 

“Stopped she 1s,” reported Russ. 

Then those of the players who had been look- 
ing on and wondering at Mr. Switzer’s cries 
could hurry to his rescue. 

For it is a crime out of the ordinary in the 
annals of moving pictures for any one not in the 
scene to get within range of the camera when an 

30 


A REHEARSAL 31 


act is being filmed. It means not only the spoil- 
ing of the reel, perhaps, but a retaking of that 
particular action. When Russ ceased to grind 
at the camera crank, however, it was the same as 
when the shutter of an ordinary camera is closed. 
No more views can be taken. It was safe for 
others to cross the field of vision. 

“What's the matter?” cried Paul, who, with 
Ruth and Alice and some of the others trailing 
after him, was hurrying toward the false front 
of boards that represented a shed. 

“Did a cow critter or a sheep step on you?” 
Russ questioned. 

“Ach! My face! My clothes! Ruined!’ came 
in accents of deep disgust from the actor. “Never 
again will I leap through a window without know- 
ing into what I am going to land. Ach!” 

“What happened?” asked Paul, trying to keep 
from laughing, for the player’s voice was so fun- 
nily tragic. 

“What happened? Come and see!” cried Mr. 
Switzer. “TI have into a chicken’s home invaded 
myself already!” 

“Invaded himself into a chicken’s home!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Pertell. “What in the world does he 
mean?” 

“I guess he means he sat down in a hen’s nest!’ 
chuckled Paul, and this proved to be the case. 


32 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Going around to the other side of the erected 
boards, the players and others saw a curious sight. 

Seated on the hay, his face, his hair, his hands, 
and his clothing a mass of the whites and yellows 
of eggs, was Carl Switzer. He held up his fing- 
ers, dripping with the ingredients of half a dozen 
omelets. 

“The chicken’s home was right here, in the 
hay—where I jumped. I landed right in among — 
the eggs—head first. Get me some water— 
quick!’ implored the player. 

“Didn’t you see the eggs before you jumped 
among ’em?” asked Mr. Pertell. 

“See them? I should say not! Think you I 
would have precipitated myself into their midst 
had I done so?” indignantly demanded Mr. 
Switzer, relapsing into his formally-learned Eng- 
lish. “I have no desire to be a part of a scrambled 
egg,” he went on. “Some water—quick !” 

While one of the extra players was bringing 
the water, Sandy Apgar strolled past. He was 
told what had happened. 

“Plumped himself down in a hen’s nest, did 
he?” exclaimed the young proprietor of Oak 
Farm. ‘“Wa’al, now, if you folks go to upsettin’ 
the domestic arrangements of my fowls that way 
I'll have t’ be charging you higher prices,” and 
he laughed good-naturedly. 


A REHEARSAL 33 


“Ach! Dat is better,” said Mr. Switzer, when 
he had cleansed himself. “How came it, do you 
think, Mr. Apgar, that the hen laid her eggs right 
where I was to make my landing when escaping 
from the Confederates?” 

“Huh! More than one hen laid her eggs there, 
I reckon,” the farmer said. ‘There must have 
been half a dozen of ’em who had rooms in that 
apartment. You see, it’s this way. Hens love to 
steal away and lay their eggs in secret places. 
After you folks built this make-believe shed and 
put the hay in, I s’pose some of my hens seen it 
and thought it would be a good place. So they 
made a nest there, and they’ve been layin’ in it 
for the last few days.” 

“More as a week, I should say!’ declared Mr. 
Switzer in his best German comedian manner. 
“There were many eggs!’ 

“Yes, you did bust quite a few!’ said Sandy, 
critically looking at the disrupted nest. “But it 

can’t be helped.” 

“Well, the film wasn’t spoiled, anyhow,” ob- 
served Mr. Pertell. To him that was all that 
counted. “You got him all right as he went 
through the window, didn’t you, Russ?” 

“Oh, yes. It wasn’t until he was inside, down 
behind the boards and out of sight, that the eggs — 
happened.” 


34 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“No more eggs for me!” declared the come- 
dian. “I shall never look a chicken in the face 
again.” 

“Go on with the scene,” ordered the director. 
“You are supposed to steal out to the barn to give 
the hidden soldier food,” he said to Ruth. “You 
come out from the house, and are astonished to 
see a man’s head sticking out of the shed window. 
You register surprise, and start to run back to. 
the house, but the soldier implores you to stay, 
and you reluctantly listen to him. Then he begs 
for food S 

“But don’t bring me a hard-boiled egg, what- 
ever you do!” called Mr. Switzer. 

“No funny business now,” warned the direc- 
tor, with a laugh. “Go on now, and we'll see 
how you do it.” 

After one or two trials Mr. Pertell announced 
himself as satisfied and the filming of that part 
of the war drama went on. 

So many details in regard to the taking of moy- 
ing pictures have been given in the previous books 
of this series that they need not be repeated here. 
Suffice it to say that the pictures of the players 
in motion are taken on a long celluloid strip of 
film, just as one picture is taken on a square of 
celluloid in a snap-shot camera. 

This long reel of film, when developed, is a 





4 REHEARSAL 35 


“negative.” From it a “positive” strip of film is 
made, and this is the one that is run through the 
projection machine throwing the pictures on the 
white screen in the darkened theatre. The pic- 
tures taken are very small, and are greatly mag- 
nified on the screen. 

So much for the mechanical end of the busi- 
ness. It may interest some to learn that the 
photo-play, as seen in the theatre, is not taken 
all at once, nor in the order in which the scenes 
are seen as they are reeled off. 

When a play is decided on, the director or one 
of his helpers goes over the manuscript and picks 
out all the scenes that take place in one location. 
It may be in a parlor, in a hut, on the side of a 
mountain, in a lonely wilderness, on a battle-field, 
on a bridge—anywhere, in fact. And several 
scenes, involving several different persons, may 
take place at any one of these places. 

It can be understood that it would involve a 
great deal of work to follow the logical sequence 
of the scenes. ‘That is to say, if the first scene 
was in an office showing a girl taking dictation 
from her employer, and the next showed the same 
girl and her employer on a ferryboat, and the 
third scene went back to the office, where some 
papers were being examined, it would mean a loss 
of time to photograph, or film, the first office 


36 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


scene, then take every one involved in the act to 
the ferryboat, and then back to the office again. 

Instead, the two office scenes, and possibly 
more, are taken at one time, on the same film, 
one after the other, without regard to whether 
they follow logically or not. Afterward the film 
is cut apart, and the scenes fitted in where they 
belong. 

So, too, all the scenes pertaining to a hut in the 
wilderness, on a bridge, in the woods, in a par- 
lor—it makes no difference where—are taken at 
the same time. In this way much labor and 
axpense are saved. 

But it makes a queer sort of story to an un- 
- initiated person looking on; and sometimes the 
players themselves do not know what it is all 
about. 

So Mr. Pertell wanted to get all the scenes 
centering around the shed at the same time, 
though they were not in sequence. And Ruth and 
Mr. Switzer and the others in the cast went 
through their parts with the shed as a back- 
ground. 

In one scene Ruth had to discover the hidden 
soldier. Then she had to steal out to him with 
food. Later, at night, she was to help him to 
escape. Then, a week later, she was to go out to 
the same shed and discover a letter he had hidden 


A REHEARSAL be 


in the hay. That ended the scenes at the shed, 
and it could be taken away to make room for 
something else. 

“Oh, Ruth, you did that splendidly!” ex- 
claimed Alice, as her sister finished her work and 
went up on the shady porch to rest. 

“Did you like it? I’m glad.” 

“Like it? It was great! Where you discov- 
ered that letter in the hay, your face showed such 
natural surprise.” 

“I’m glad it didn’t register merriment.” 

“Why P? 

“Because, as I picked up the letter, I found a 
big blot of the yellow from the hens’ eggs on it. 
I hope it doesn’t show in the picture. I had all 
I could do to keep from laughing when I thought 
of Mr. Switzer in the omelet scene.” 

“Oh, well, you know they want all white stuff 
yellow when they make pictures.” 

“In the studio, but not outdoors.” 

This is a fact. As the scenes in the studio are 
taken in the glare of a special kind of electric 
light, all white objects, even the collars and cuffs 
of the men, are yellow in tone, though in the 
picture they show perfectly white. This is due 
to the chemical rays of the lights used. Out of 
doors, under sunlight, colors are seen in their own 
hues. 


38 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“You did very well in that funny little scene 
with Paul,” said Ruth to her sister. 

“You mean in the swing under the apple tree?” 

yates 

“T was so afraid he would swing me too high,” 
Alice went on. “He was cutting up so. I told 
him to stop, but he wouldn’t.” 

“Tt was very natural. I think it will show well. 
Hark! what’s that?” cried Ruth, leaping to her 
feet. 

“Thunder,” suggested Alice, as a distant, 
rumbling noise came to their ears. 

“Sounds more like big guns.” 

“Oh, that’s what it is!” agreed Alice. “They 
are going to rehearse one of the battle scenes this 
afternoon, I heard Mr. Pertell say. The soldiers 
must have come, and they’re practising over in 
the glen. Come on over and watch. We're in on 
the scenes later, but we can watch now.” 

“All right,” agreed Ruth. “Wait until I get 
my broad-brimmed hat, the sun is hot up here.” 

Presently the two sisters, with Paul Ardite and 
some other members of the company, were stroll- 
ing over the fields toward the scene of the distant 
firing. As they came in sight of several hundred 
men and horses, they saw the smoke of cannon 
and heard the shouting of the director and his 
assistants who were using big megaphones. It 


A REHEARSAL 39 


was the rehearsal of one of the many battle scenes 
that were to take place about Oak Farm. 

“Oh, look at that girl ride!’ suddenly ex- 
claimed Alice, pointing to a young woman who 
jdashed past on a spirited horse. “Isn’t she a 
wonder ?” 

“She is indeed,” agreed Ruth. “I wonder who 
she is?” 

“One of the extras,” said Paul. “A number of 
them have just arrived. We'll begin active work 
soon, and film some big scenes with you girls in 
them.” 

Alice gazed across the fields toward the figure 
of the girl on horseback. There was something 
spirited in her riding, and, though she had never 
seen her before, Alice felt strangely drawn 
toward the new player. 


CHAPTER AA, 
A DARING RIDER 


“‘CoME on now, Confederates!” 

“No, you Union chaps hold back there in am- 
bush. You’re not to dash out until you get the 
signal. Wait!” 

“Keep that horse out of the way. He isn’t sup- 
posed to dash across, riderless, until after the first 
volley.” 

“Put in a little more action! Fall off as 
though you were shot, not as though you were 
bending over to see if your horse had a stone 
under his shoe! Fall off hard!’ 

“And you fellows that do fall off—tie still 
after you fall! Don’t twitch as though you 
wanted to scratch your noses!” 

“If some of ’em don’t stay quiet after they fall 
off they’ll get stepped on!” 

“All ready now! Come with a rush when the 
signal’s given!” 

Mr. Pertell and his men were stationed near a 
“battery” of camera men, who were ready to 

40 


A DARING RIDER 4I 


grind away; and the director and his assistants 
were calling their instructions through big mega- 
phones. To reach the soldiers in the more distant 
parts of the field recourse was had to telephones, 
the wires of which were laid along the ground in 
shallow trenches, covered with earth so that the 
trampling of the horses would not sever them. 

“Get that battery farther back among the 
trees!” cried Mr. Pertell to one of his helpers. 
“It’s supposed to be a masked one, but it’s in plain 
sight now. Even the audience would see it, let 
alone the men it’s supposed to fire on. Get it 
back!” 

“Yes, sir,’ answered the man, and he tele- 
phoned the instructions to the assistant director 
in charge of a battery of field guns that had been 
thundering away—the sound which had brought 
Ruth and Alice to the scene. 

“Do we have any part in the battle scenes?” 
asked Ruth. 

“Yes, quite big parts,’ Paul informed her. 
“But you don’t go on to-day. This is only a 
rehearsal.” 

“But they've been firing real powder,” re- 
marked Alice, “and it looks as though they were 
going to fire more,’ and she pointed to where 
men of the masked battery were ramming charges 
down the iron throats of their guns. 


42 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAK PLAYS 


“Yes, they’re firing, and charging, and doing 
all manner of stunts, and the camera men are 
grinding away, but they aren’t using any film,” 
went on Paul. “It’s just to get every one used 
to working under the excitement. They have to 
fire the guns so the horses will get so they don’t 
mind them when the real time comes.” 

Hundreds of extra players had been engaged 
to come to Oak Farm for these battle scenes in the 
drama, “A Girl in Blue and A Girl in Gray,” and 
some of them were already on hand with their 
mounts. As has been said, special accommoda- 
tions had been erected where they were to stay 
during the weeks they would be needed. There 
were more men than women among the extra 
people, though a number of women and girls were 
needed in the “town” scenes. 

Most of the men were former members of the 
militia, cowboys and adventurers, all of whom 
were used to hard, rough riding. This was neces- 
sary, for when battle scenes are shown there must 
be some “‘killed,”’ and when a man has a horse 
shot from under him, or is shot himself, riding 
at full speed, even though the cartridges are blank, 
the action calls for a heavy fall, sudden and 
abrupt, to make it look real. And this is not easy 
to do, nor is it altogether safe with a mob of 
riders thundering along behind one. 


A DARING RIDER 43 


Yet the men who take part in these battle 
scenes do it with scarcely a thought of danger, 
though often many of them are hurt, as are the 
horses. 

In brief the story of the play in which Ruth 
was to take the part of a girl in Blue, and Alice 
of a girl in Gray, was this. They were cousins, 
and Ruth was visiting Alice’s home in the South 
when the war broke out. Alice, of course, sided 
with her people, and loved the gray uniforms, 
while Ruth’s sympathies were with the North. 

Ruth determined to go back North and become 
a nurse, while Alice, longing for more active 
work, offered her services as a spy to help the 
Confederacy. Though on opposite sides, the girls’ 
love for one another did not wane. 

Then came the scenes of the war. Battles were 
to be shown, and there were plots and counter- 
plots, in some of which Ruth and Alice had no 
part. Mr. DeVere was cast for a Northern Gen- 
eral, and the character became him well. Later 
on Alice and Ruth were to meet in a hospital 
among the wounded. Alice was supposed to get 
certain papers of value to her side from a 
wounded Union officer. As she was escaping with 
them Ruth was to intercept her, and the two were 
to have a “‘strong”’ scene together. 

Alice, ignoring the pleadings of her cousin and 


44 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


about to depart with the papers, learns that the 
officer from whom she took them was the same 

one that had saved her father’s life on the battle- 
field. She decides to forego her mission as a spy, 
even though it may mean the betrayal of her own 
cause, when the news comes in of Lee’s surrender, 
and her sacrifice is not demanded. Then “all live 
happily for ever after.” 

That is but a mere outline of the play, which 
was to be an elaborate production. And it was 
the rehearsal for the preliminary battles and skir- 
mishes that the girls were now witnessing. 

“Tell that battery to get ready to fire!” cried 
Mr. Pertell, and this word went over the tele- 
phone. 

“Come on now with that Union charge!’ was 
the next command. 

Then hundreds of horses thundered down the 
slopes of Oak Farm, while the hidden guns 
thundered. Down went horses and men while the 
girls screamed involuntarily, it all seemed so real. 

“Tt’s a good thing we didn’t plant no corn in 
that there field this season,’ observed Belix 
Apgar, Sandy’s father, as he saw the charge. 

“That's. right,” agreed his \wite 9) aaeeee 
wouldn’t have been ‘nuff left to make a hominy 
cake.” 

“Do it over again!” ordered the manager. 


A DARING RIDER 45 


“Some of you fellows ride your horses as if you 
were going to a croquet game. Get some action 
into it!” 

Once more the battery thundered its harmless 
shots and the men charged. This time the scene 
was Satisfactory, and preparations were made to 
filmit. Again the men thundered down the slope, 
and when they were almost at the battery a single 

rider—a girl—dashed out toward the approaching 
Union soldiers. 

Pou, sne ll be killed!” cried Ruth. . “They’ll 
ride right over her!” 

It did seem so, for she was headed straight 
toward the approaching horsemen: 

Paemes ail ripht,* said Paul. “She’s quite a 
rider, I believe. Her part, as a Union sympa- 
thizer, is to rush out and warn them of the hid- 
den battery, but she is delayed by a Southerner 
until it is too late, and she takes a desperate 
chance. There go the guns!” 

Horses and riders were lost in a cloud of 
smoke. This time the film was being taken. 
When that charge was over, and men and horses, 
some limping, had gone back to their quarters, 
Mr. Pertell signaled to the daring woman rider 
to come to him. 

“That was very well done, Miss Brown,” he 
said. “You certainly showed nerve.” 


46 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T am glad you liked it,” was the answer in a 
quiet, well-bred voice. “Shall you want me again 
to-day?” 

“Not until later, and it will be an interior. Is 
your horse all right?” 

“Oh, yes. I am in love with him!” and she 
patted the arching neck of the handsome crea- 
ture. “He is so speedy.” 

“He sure is speedy, all right,” agreed Paul, and 
the girl—she was scarcely more than that—who 
had been addressed as Miss Brown by the direc- 
tor smiled at the young actor. Then she let her 
friendly gaze rest on Ruth and Alice. 

“Isn’t she fine!” murmured Alice. 

“Like to meet her?’ whispered Paul. 

“Yes!” exclaimed Alice eagerly, paying no at- 
tention to Ruth’s plucking of her sleeve. 

“Miss Brown, allow me to present 
Paul introduced the two DeVere girls. 

“That was a daring ride of yours!” remarked 
Alice, with enthusiasm. 

“Indeed it was,” agreed Ruth, more quietly. 

“Do you think so? I’m glad you like it. I 
have been riding ever since I was a little girl.” 

“Did you learn in the West?” asked Alice. 

“Why, yes—that is I—I really—oh, there goes 
that wild black horse again!” and Miss Brown 
turned to point to an animal ridden by one of the 


3) 


and 





A DARING RIDER 47 


Confederate soldiers. The horse seemed unman- 
ageable, and dashed some distance across the field 
before it was brought under control. 

Then the talk turned to moving picture work, 
though Ruth could not help wondering, even in 
the midst of it, why Miss Brown had not been 
more certain of where she had learned to ride. 

“Tt isn’t something one would forget,” mused 
Ruth. 


CHAPTER VI 
A NEEDED LESSON — 


REHEARSALS, the filming of scenes, retakes and 
the studying of their parts kept busy not only 
the moving picture girls, but all the members of 
Mr. Pertell’s company. There was work for all, 
and from the smallest girls and boys, including 
Tommie and Nellie Maguire, to Mr. DeVere him- 
self, little spare time was to be had. 

Ruth and Alice had important parts, and they 
were given a general outline of what was ex- 
pected of them. They would be in many scenes, 
and a variety of action would be required. In 
order that they do themselves and the film justice, 
since they were to be “featured,” the girls spent. 
much time studying in their rooms and practising 
to get the best results from the various regis- 
terings. 

“That is going to be a very strong scene for 
you and Alice,” said Mr. DeVere to Ruth one 
day. “I refer to that scene where Alice takes 
the paper and afterwards discovers the identity 

48 


A NEEDED LESSON 49 


of the man to whom she owes so much—the life 
of her father. Now let me see how you would 
play it, Alice.” 

Alice did so, and she did well, but her father 
was not satisfied. The stage traditions meant 
much to him, and though he had been forced to 
give up many of them when he went into the 
motion pictures, still he knew what good dramatic 
action was, and he knew that it would “get over” 
just as certainly in the silent drama as it did in 
the legitimate. So he made Alice go over the 
scene again, and Ruth also, until he was satis- 
fed. 

“Now, when the time comes, you'll know how 
to do it,” he said. “Don’t be satisfied with any- 
thing but the best you can do, even if it is only a 
moving picture show. 1am convinced, more and 
mote, that the silent drama is going to take a 
larger place than ever before the public.” 

It was on one afternoon following a rather 
hard day’s work before the cameras, that Ruth 
and Alice, with Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, 
sat on the porch of the farmhouse, waiting for 
the supper bell. Russ and Paul were off to one 
side, talking, and Mr. DeVere and Mr. Bunn were 
discussing their early days in the legitimate. Mr. 
Pertell came up the walk, a worried look on his 
face, seeing which Mr. Switzer called out: 


so MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Did a cow step on some of the actors, Herr 
Director, or did one of our worthy farmer’s rams 
knock over a camera after it had filmed one of 
the battle scenes ?” 

“Neither one, Mr. Switzer,’ was the answer. 
“This is merely a domestic trouble I have on my 
mind,” 

“Domestic!” exclaimed Alice. “You don’t mean 
that some of your pretty extra girls have eloped 
with some of your dashing cowboy soldiers, do 
you? I wouldn’t blame them if the vy 

‘Alice!’ chided her sister. 

“Oh, well, you know what I mean!” 

“No, it isn’t quite that,’ laughed the director, 
“though you have very nearly hit it,” and he took 
a chair near Alice and her sister, and near where 
Pearl Pennington and Laura Dixon were rocking 
and chewing gum. 

“Tell us, and perhaps we can help you,” Alice 
suggested. 

“Well, maybe you can. It’s about Miss Estelle 
Brown, the young lady who made that daring 
ride in front of the masked battery the other 
day.” 

“What! Has she left?” asked Ruth. “She 
was such a wonderful rider!’ 

“No, she hasn’t left, but she threatens to; and 
I can’t let her go, as she’s in some of the films 





A NEEDED LESSON ST 


and I’d have to switch the whole plot around to 
explain why she didn’t come in on the later 
scenes,’ 

“Why is she going to leave?” Alice queried. 

“Because she has been subjected to some annoy- 
ance on the part of a young man who is one of 
the extras. You know the extras all live down 
in the big bungalow I had built for them. I have 
a man and his wife to look after them, and I try 
to make it as nearly like a happy family as I can. 
But Miss Brown says she can’t stay there any 
longer. This young man—a decent enough chap 
he had seemed to me—is pestering her with his 
attentions. He is quite in love with her, it 
seems.” 

“Oh, how rornantic!” gurgled Miss Dixon. 

“Miss Brown doesn’t think so,” said the man- 
ager dryly. “I don’t know what to do about it, 
for I have no place where I can put her up alone.” 

“Bring her here!’ exclaimed Alice, impulsively. 

“Indeed, no!” cried Miss Pennington. “We 
actresses were told that none of the extra people 
would be quartered with us! If that had not 
been agreed to I would not have come to this 
place.” 

“Nor I!’ chimed in Miss Dixon. “We pro- 
fessionals are not to be classed with these extras 
—and amateurs at that!” 


52 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T know I did promise you regulars that you 
would be boarded by yourselves,” said Mr. Per- 
tell, scratching his head in perplexity, “and I 
don’t blame you for not wanting, as a general 
run, to mix with the others. For some of them, 
while they are decent enough, have a big idea of 
their own importance. I wouldn’t think of asking 
you to let one of the extra men come here, but 
this young lady: 8 

“She is perfectly charming!” broke in Alice. 
“And she certainly can ride!” 

“She did seem very nice,” murmured Ruth. 

“Pooh! A vulgar cowgirl!’ sneered Miss 
Dixon. 

“There is a nice room near mine,’ went on 
Alice. “She could have that, I should think. The 
Apgars don’t use it, and it is certainly annoying to 
be pestered by a young man!’ and she looked with 
uptilted nose at Paul, who said emphatically: 

“Well, I like that!’ 

“Tf I could bring her here 
Pertell. 

“By all means!” exclaimed Ruth. “We will 
try to make her happy and comfortable—if she is 
an amateur.” 

“She has no right to come here!” burst out Miss 
Dixon. 

“No, indeed!’ added Miss Pennington. “Tf 








” began Mr. 


A NEEDED LESSON 53 


she comes, I shall go! I will not board in the 
same place with an amateur cowgirl doing an 
extra turn in the pictures.” 

“Nor I!’ snapped Miss Dixon. 

“All right—all right!” said Mr. Pertell 
quickly. “I know it’s contrary to my promise, 
and I won’t insist on it. Only it would have made 
it easier fi 

“Let Miss Brown come,” quickly whispered 
Alice in the director’s ear. “They won’t leave. 
They’re too comfortable here, and they get too 
good salaries. Let Miss Brown come!” | 

“Will you stand by me if I do?” 

“Yes,” said Alice. 

“So will I,” added Ruth. 

Then the supper bell rang and the discussion 
ended for the time being. Later Mr. Pertell ex- 
plained privately to Ruth and her sister that Miss 
Brown was a quiet and refined young lady about 
whom he knew little save that she had answered 
his advertisement for an amateur who could ride. 
She had made good and he had engaged her for 
the war scenes. 

“But she tells me that among the young men 
in the same boarding bungalow is one who seems 
quite smitten with her. He is impudent and ex- 
ceedingly persistent, and she does not desire his 
attentions. She said she thought she would have 





54 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


to leave unless she could get a quiet place where 

he could not follow. It is all right during the 
| day, as he can not come near her, but after 
hours M 

“Do bring her!” urged Alice. “We'll try to 
make her comfortable. And don’t fear what they 
will do,’ and she nodded toward the two other 
actresses, who had been in vaudeville before going 
into motion pictures. 

So it was that, later in the evening, Miss Brown 
brought her trunk to the Apgar farmhouse and 
was installed in a room near Alice and Ruth. 

“Oh, it is so much nicer here!” sighed Estelle 
Brown, as she admitted Ruth and Alice, who 
knocked on her door. “I could not have stood 
the other place much longer. Though every one 
—except that one man—was very nice to me.” 

“Let us be your friends!” urged Alice. 

“You are very kind,’ murmured Estelle, and 
the more the two girls looked at her, the prettier 
they thought her. She had wonderful hair, a — 
marvelous complexion, and white, even teeth that 
made her smile a delight. 

“Have you been in this business long?” asked 
Ruth. 

“No, not very—in fact, this is my first big 
play. I have done little ones, but I did not get 
on very well. I love the work, though.” 





A NEEDED LESSON 55 


“Were your people in the profession?” asked 
Alice. 

“T don’t know—that is, I’m not sure. I be- 
lieve some of them were, generations back. Oh, 
did you hear that?” and she interrupted her reply 
with the question. 

“That” was the voice of some one in the lower 
hall inquiring if Miss Brown was in. 

“It’s that—that impertinent Maurice Whit- 
low!’ whispered Estelle to Ruth and Alice. “I 
thought I could escape him here. Oh, what shall 
I do?” 

“T’ll say you are not at home,” returned Ruth, 
in her best “‘stage society”’ manner, and, sweep- 
ing down the hall, she met the maid who was 
coming up to tell Miss Brown there was a caller 
for her below. 

“Tell him Miss Brown is not at home,” said 
Ruth. 

“Very well,’ and the maid smiled understand- 
ingly. 

“Ah! not at home? Tell her I shall call 
again,’ came in drawling tones up the stairway, 
-for it was warm, and doors and windows were 
open. 

“Little—snip!” murmured Estelle. “I’m so 
glad I didn’t have to see him. He’s a pest—all 
the while wanting to take me out and buy ice- 


56 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


cream sodas. He’s just starting in at the movies, 
and he thinks he’s a star already. Oh! but don’t 
you just love the guns and horses?” she asked 
impulsively. 

“Well, I can’t say that I do,” answered Ruth. 
“T like quieter plays.” 

“I don’t!” cried Alice. ‘““The more excitement 
the better I like it. I can do my best then.” 

“So can I,” said Estelle. Then they fell to 
talking of the work, and of many other topics. 

“Did Estelle Brown strike you as being pecu-— 
liar?’ asked Ruth of her sister when they were 
back in their rooms, getting ready for bed. 

“Peculiar? What do you mean?” 

“T mean she didn’t seem to know whether or 
not her people were in the profession.” 

“Yes, she did side-step that a bit.” 

“Side-step, Alice?” 

“Well, avoid answering, if you like that bet- 
ter. But my way is shorter. Say, maybe she 
has gone into this without her people knowing 
it, and she wants to keep them from bringing her 
back.” 

“Maybe, though it didn’t strike me as being 
that way. It was as though she wasn’t quite 
sure of herself.” 

“Sure of herseli—what do you mean?” 

“Well, I can’t explain it any better.” 


4A NEEDED LESSON 57 


“T’ll think it over,” said Alice, sleepily. “We've 
got lots to do to-morrow,” and she tumbled into 
bed with a drowsy “good-night.”’ 

Miss Laura Dixon and Miss Pearl Pennington 
most decidedly turned up their noses at the break- 
fast table when they saw Estelle sitting between 
Ruth and Alice. And their murmurs of disdain 
could be plainly heard. 

“She here? Then I’m going to leave!” 

“The idea of amateurs butting in like this! It’s 
a shame!” 

Fortunately Estelle was exchanging some gay 
banter with Paul and did not hear. But Ruth 
and Alice did, and the latter could not avoid a 
thrust at the scornful ones. To Ruth, in an un- 
necessarily loud voice, Alice remarked: 

“Do you remember that funny vaudeville stunt 
we used to laugh over when we were children— 
‘The Lady Bookseller ?’ ” 

“Yes, | remember it very well,” answered Ruth. 
“What about it, Alice?” for she did not catch her 
sister’s drift. 

“Why, I was just wondering how many years 
ago it was—ten, at least, since it was popular, 
isn’t it?” 

“T believe so!” 

“It’s no such a thing!’ came the indignant 
remonstrance from Miss Pennington. It was in 


58 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


this sketch that she had made her “hit,” and as 
she now claimed several years less than the num- 
ber to which she was entitled, this sly reference 
to her age was not relished. “It was only six 
years ago that I starred in that,’ she went on. 

“It seems much longer,” said Alice, calmly. 
“We were quite little when we saw you in that. 
You were so funny with your big feet 

“Big feet! I had to wear shoes several sizes 
too large for me! It was inthe act. [—I-——” 

“They’re stringing you—keep still!’ whispered 
her chum, and with red cheeks Miss Pennington 
subsided. 

But Alice’s remarks had the desired effect, and 
there were no more references, for the present, 
directed at pretty Estelle. Miss Dixon and Miss 
Pennington had a scene with Mr. Pertell, though, 
in which they threatened to leave unless Estelle 
were sent back to the bungalow where the other 
extra players boarded. But the manager remained 
firm, and the two vaudeville actresses did not quit 
the company. 

Hard work followed, and Estelle made some 
daring rides, once narrowly escaping injury from 
the burning wad of a cannon, which went off pre- 
maturely as she dashed past the very muzzle. But 
she put spurs to her horse, who leaped over the 
spurt of fire and smoke. A few feet of film 





A NEEDED LESSON 59 


- 


were spoiled, but this was better than having an 
actor hurt. 

Alice was sitting on the farmhouse porch one 
afternoon, waiting for Estelle and Ruth to come 
down, for they were going for a walk together, 
not being needed in the films. Estelle had been 
taken into companionship by the two girls, who 
found her a very charming companion, though 
little disposed to talk about herself. 

Alice, who was reading a motion picture maga- 
zine, was startled by hearing a voice saying, al- 
most in her ear: 

“Is Miss Brown in?” 

“Oh!” and Alice looked up to see Maurice 
Whitlow smirking at her. He had tiptoed up 
on the porch and was standing very close to her. 
She had never been introduced to him, but that 
is not absolutely insisted on in moving picture 
circles, particularly when a company is on “‘loca- 
tion.” 

“Is Miss Brown in?” repeated Whitlow. 

“T don’t know, I’m sure,” replied Alice. 

‘Ah, well, Vl wait and find out. TIl sit down 
here by you and wait,” went on the young man, 
drawing a chair so close to that of Alice that it 
touched. “Fine day, isn’tit? Isay! you did that 
bit of acting very cleverly to-day.” 

“Did I?” and Alice went on reading. 


60 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAKk PLAYS 


“Yes. ‘I hada little bit myself. \Ivcarmeave 
message from the field headquarters to the rear— 
after more ammunition, you know. Did you no- 
tice me riding?” 

“T did not.” 

“Well, I saw you, all right. If Miss Brown 
isn’t home, do you want to go over to the village 
with me?” 

“T do not!” and Alice was very emphatic. 

“Then for a row on the lake?” 

“No!” 

“You look as though you would enjoy canoe- 
ing,” went on the persistent Whitlow. “You 
have a very strong little hand—very pretty!” and 
he boldly reached up and removed Alice’s fingers 
from the edge of the magazine. “A very pretty 
little hand—yes!”’ and he sighed foolishly. 

“How dare you!” cried Alice, indignantly. “If 
you don’t——” 

“See how you like that pretty bit of grass down 
there!” exclaimed a sharp voice behind Alice, and 
the next moment Mr. Maurice Whitlow, eye- 
glasses, lavender tie, socks and all, went sailing 
over the porch railing, to land in a sprawling heap 
on the sod below. 


Ciera ae | > 
ee. ek, ‘ ‘ 


CHAPTER VII 
ESTELLE’S LEAP 


“Ox!” murmured Alice, shrinking down in her 
chair. ‘“Oh—my!” 

She gave a hasty glance over her shoulder, to 
behold Paul Ardite standing back of her chair, 
an angry look on his face. Then Alice looked 
at the sprawling form of the extra player, He 
was getting up with a dazed expression on his 
countenance. 

“What—what does this mean?” he gasped, 
striving to make his tones indignant. But it is 
hard for dignity to assert itself when one is on 
one’s hands and knees in the grass, conscious that 
there is a big grass stain on one’s white cuff, and 
with one’s clothing generally disarranged. “What 
does this mean? I demand an explanation,” 
came from Mr. Maurice Whitlow. 

“You know well enough what it means!’ snap- 
ped Paul. “If you don’t, why, come back here 
and try it over again and [’ll give you another 
demonstration !’’ 

67 


62 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Oh, don’t, Paul—please!” pleaded Alice in a 
low voice. 

“There’s no danger. He won't come,” was the 
confident reply. 

By this time Whitlow had picked himself up 
and was brushing his garments. He settled his 
collar, straightened his lavender tie and wet his 
lips as though about to speak. 

“You—you—I ” he began. “I don’t see 
what right you had to——’” 

“That'll do now!” interrupted Paul, sternly. 
“It’s of no use to go into explanations. You 
know as well as I do what you were doing and 
why I pitched you over the railing. [Il do it 
again if you want me to, but twice as hard. And 
if I catch you here again, annoying any of the 
ladies of this company, [ll report you to the 
director. Now skip—and stay skipped!” con- 
cluded Paul significantly. ‘Perhaps you can’t 
read that notice?’ and he pointed to one recently 
posted on the main gateway leading to the big 
farmhouse. It was to the effect that none of the 
extra players were allowed admission to the 
grounds without a permit from the director. 

“Huh! I’m as good an actor as you, any day!” 
sneered Whitlow, as he limped down the walk. 

“Maybe. But you can’t get over with it— 
here!” said Paul significantly. 





ESTELLE’S LEAP 63 


The notice had been posted because so many 
of the cowboys and girls had fairly overrun the 
precincts of Mr. Apgar’s home. He and his 
family had no privacy at all, and while they did 
not mind the regular members of Mr. Pertell’s 
company, with whom they were acquainted, they 
did not want the hundreds of extra men, soldiers, 
cowboys and horsewomen running all over the 
place. 

So the rule had been adopted, and it was ob- 
served good-naturedly by those to whom it ap- 
plied. Whitlow must have considered himself 
above it. 

“Did he annoy you much, Alice?” asked Paul. 

“Not so very. He was just what you might 
call—ffresh. He asked for Miss Brown, and 
when she wasn’t here to snub him he turned the 
task over tome. Ugh!” and Alice began to scrub 
vigorously with her handkerchief the fingers 
which Whitlow had grasped. “I’m sorry you 
had that trouble with him, Paul,” she went on. 
“But reall . 

“It was no trouble—it was a pleasure!” 
laughed Paul. “I'd like to do it over again if it 
were not for annoying you. I happened to come 
up behind and heard what he was saying. So I 
just pitched into him. I don’t believe he’ll come 
back. He’ll be too much afraid of losing the 





64 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


work. Mr. Pertell has had a great many applica- 
tions from players out of work who want to be 
taken on as extras, and he can have his pick. So 
those that don’t obey the regulations will get short 
‘notice. You won’t be troubled with him again.” 

And Alice was not, nor was Miss Brown. That 
is, as regards the extra player’s trespassing on 
the grounds about the farmhouse. But he was 
of the kind that is persistent, and on several occa- 
sions, when the duties of the girls brought them 
near to where Whitlow was acting, he smiled and 
smirked at them. 

Alice wished to tell Paul about it and have him 
administer another and more severe chastisement 
to Whitlow, but Ruth and Estelle persuaded the 
impulsive one to forego doing so. 

“IT can look after myself, thank you, Alice 
dear,” Estelle said. “‘Now that I don’t have to 
board in the bungalow with him it is easier.” 

“Don’t make a scene,” advised Ruth. 

“Oh, but I just can’t bear to have him look at 
me,” Alice said. 

Several of the scenes in the principal drama 
had been made, but most of the largest ones, those 
of the battles, of Alice’s spy work, and of Ruth’s 
nursing, were yet to come. 

The making of a big moving picture is the 
work not of days, but of weeks, and often of 


ESTELLE’S LEAP 65 


months. If every scene took place in a studio, 
where artificial lights could be used, the filming 
could go on every day the actors were on hand, 
or whenever the director felt like working them 
and the camera men. Often in a studio, even, 
the director will be notional—“temperamental,” 
he might call it—and let a day go by, and again 
the glare of the powerful lights may so affect the 
eyes of the players that they have to rest, and 
so time is lost in that way. 

But the time lost in a studio is as nothing com- 
pared to the time lost in filming the big outdoor 
scenes. There the sun is a big factor, for a bril- 
liant light is needed to take pictures of galloping” 
horses, swiftly moving automobiles and locomo- 
tives, and every cloudy day means a loss of time. 
For this reason many of the big film companies 
maintain studios in California, where there are 
many days of sunshine. They can take “outdoor 
stuff’ almost any time after the sun is up. 

But at Oak Farm there were times when every- 
thing would be in readiness for a big scene, the 
camera men waiting, the players ready to dash 
into their parts, and then clouds would form, or 
it would rain, and there would be a postponement. 
But it was part of the game, and as the salaries 
of the players went on whether they worked or 
not, they did not complain. 


66 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


One morning Alice, on going into Estelle’s 
room, found her busy “padding” herself before 
she put on her outer garments. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Alice 
asked. 

“Getting ready for my big jump,” was the 
answer. 

“Your big jump?” 

“Yes, you know there is a scene where I carry 
a message from headquarters to one of the Union 
generals at the front. Your father plays the 
latter part.” 

“Oh, yes, now I remember. And Daddy is 
sure no one can do quite as well as he can in the 
tent scene, where he salutes you and takes the 
message you have brought through with such 
peril.” 

“Yes, that’s nice. Well, I’m to ride along and 
be pursued by some Confederate guerrillas. It’s 
a race, and I decide to take a short cut, not know- 
ing the Confederates have burned the bridge. I 
have to leap my horse down an embankment and 
ford the stream. I’m getting ready for the jump 
now—that’s why I’m padding myself. For 
Petro—that’s my horse—might slip or stumble 
in jumping down that embankment, and I want 
to be ready to roll out of the way. It’s much 
more comfortable to roll in a padded suit—tike a 


PSTELLE’S LEAP 67 


football player’s—than in your ordinary clothes. 
Your friend, Russ Dalwood, told me to do this, 
and I think it is a good idea.” 

“It’s sure to be if Russ told you, isn’t it, 
Ruth?” asked Alice, with a mischievous look at 
her sister, who had just come in. 

“How should I know?” was the cool response. 
“I suppose Mr. Dalwood knows what he is doing, 
though.” 

“Oh, how very formal we are all of a sudden,” 
mocked Alice. “You two haven’t quarreled, have 
you?” 

“Silly,” returned Ruth, blushing. 

“Are you really going to jump your horse 
down a cliff?” asked Alice. 

“T really am,” was the smiling answer. “There 
is to be no fake about this. But really there is 
little danger. Iam so used to horses.” 

“Yes, and I marvel at you,” put in Ruth. 
“Where did you learn it all?” 

“T don’t know. It seems to come natural to 
me.” 

“You must have lived on a ranch a long time,” 
ventured Ruth. 

“Did I? Well, perhaps I did. Say, lace this 
up the back for me, that’s a dear,” and she turned 
around so that Alice or Ruth could fasten a 
corset-like pad that covered a large part of her 


68 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


body. It would not show under her dress, but 
would be a protection in case of a fall. 

Alice and Ruth were so greatly interested in 
the coming perilous leap of Estelle’s that they 
did not pursue their inquiries about her life on a 
ranch, though Alice casually remarked that it was 
strange she did not speak more about it. 

The two DeVere girls had no part in this one 
scene, and they went to watch it, safely out of 
range of the cameras. For there were to be two 
snapping this jump, to avoid the necessity of a 
retake in case one film failed. 

“All ready now!” called Mr. Pertell, when 
there had been several rehearsals up to the actual 
point of making the jump. Estelle had raced out 
of the woods bearing the message. The Confed- 
erate guerrillas had pursued her, and she had 
found the bridge burned—one built for the pur- 
pose and set fire to. 

“All ready for the jump?” asked the director. 

“All ready,” Estelle answered, looking to saddle 
girths and stirrups. 

“Then come on!” yelled the director through 
his megaphone. 

Estelle urged her horse forward. With shouts 
and yells, which, of course, had no part in the 
picture, yet which served to aid them in their act- 
ing, the players who were portraying the Con- 


ESTELLE’S LEAP 69 


federates came after her, spurring their horses 
and firing wildly. On and on rushed the steed 
bearing the daring girl rider. 

She reached the place of the burned bridge, 
halted a moment, made a gesture of despair, and 
then raced for the bank, down which she would 
leap her horse to the ford. 

“Come on! Come on!” yelled Mr. Pertell. 
“That’s fine! Come on! You men there put a 
little more pep in your riding. Turn and fire at 
them, Miss Brown! Fire one shot, and one of 
you men reel in his saddle. That’s the idea!’ 

Estelle had quickly turned and fired, and one 
man had most realistically showed that he was . 
hit, afterward slumping from his seat. 

Now the girl was at the edge of the bank. She 
was to make a flying jump over its edge and 
come down in the soft sand, sliding to the bot- 
tom—in the saddle if she could keep her seat, 
rolling over and over if, perchance, she left it. 

“That's the idea! Get every bit of that, Russ! 
That’s fine!” yelled Mr. Pertell. 

“There she goes!” cried Alice, grasping her 
sister’s arm, and as she spoke Estelle spurred 
her horse and it leaped full and fair over the 
edge of the embankment. Estelle had made her 
big jump. Would she come safely out of it? 


CHAPTER VIII 
A MASSED ATTACK 


WHILE Russ Dalwood and his helper were 
grinding their cameras, reeling away at the film 
on which was being impressed the shifting vision 
of Estelle Brown taking her hazardous leap, 
Alice, Ruth, and the others were watching to see 
how the daring young horsewoman would come 
out of it. 

“She’s going to land in a minute!” exclaimed 
Miss Dixon. 

“In a minute? Ina half second 
“But don’t talk!” 

“There—she’s fallen!” gasped Miss Penning- 
ton. 

With his feet gathered under him, Petro had 
come down straight on the sliding, shifting sand 
of the embankment. For a moment it looked as 
though he had stumbled and that Estelle would 
be thrown. 

But she held a firm rein, and leaned far back 
in the saddle. The horse stiffened and then, keep- 

70 


1? 


cried Alice. 


A MASSED ATTACK 71 


ing upright with his forelegs straight out in front 
of him and his hind ones bunched under him, he 
began to slide. 

Down the embankment he slid, as the Italian 
cavalrymen sometimes ride their horses, with 
Estelle firm in the saddle. And, as a matter of 
fact, the girl said afterward it was from having 
seen some moving pictures of these Italian army 
riders that she got the idea of doing as she did. 

“She won’t fall!” murmured Paul. 

“Oh, I’m so glad! The picture will be a suc- 
cess, won’t it?” 

“T should think so,” Paul said. “It certainly 
was a daring ride.” 

“Tt wouldn’t mind doing it if I had her horse,” 
put in Maurice Whitlow, smirking at the girls. 
“T think you could do that, Miss DeVere,” and 
he looked at Alice. 

She turned away with only a murmured reply, 
but, nothing daunted, the “pest”? went on: 

“Estelle is certainly a fine rider. I think she 
must have been a cowgirl on a ranch at one time, 
though she won’t admit it.” 

“She wouldn’t to you, at any rate,” said Paul, 
significantly. 

“Why not?” 

“Oh, if you don’t know it’s of no use to tell 
you. Look! Now she goes into the water!” 


72 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


The action called for the halting at the top of 
_the embankment of the Confederate riders, who 
dared not make the jump. They fired some futile 
shots at Estelle, then rode around to a less dan- 
gerous descent to try to catch her. But Estelle 
was to ford the stream and continue on to the 
Union lines with her message. 

Reaching the bottom of the slope, her horse 
gathered himself together for another bit of moy- 
ing picture work. At the edge of the stream 
another camera man was stationed, for Estelle 
and her horse were by this time too far away 
from Russ and his helper to make good views 
possible. 

Into the water splashed the girl, urging on her 
spirited horse, that was none the worse for his 
jump and his long slide. 

“Good work! Good work!’ cried an assistant 
director, who was stationed near the stream to 
see that all went according to the scenario. 
“Keep on, Miss Brown!” 

Estelle bent low over her horse’s neck, to 
escape possible bullets from the Confederate guns, 
and on and on she raced until she pulled up at 
the tent of “General” DeVere. Here her mission 
ended, after the father of Alice and Ruth, in a 
dusty uniform of a Union officer, had come out 
in response to the summons from his orderly. 


A MASSED ATTACK 73 


Estelle slipped from her saddle, registered ex- 
haustion, saluted and held out the paper she had 
brought through the Confederate lines at such 
risk. Nor was the risk wholly one of the play, 
for she might have been seriously hurt in her 
perilous leap. 

But, fortunately, everything came out properly 
and a fine series of pictures resulted. 

“T’m so glad!” Estelle exclaimed, when it was 
all over, and, divested of her padding, she sat in 
her room with Ruth and Alice. “I want to ‘make 
good’ in this business, and riding seems to be my 
forte.” 

“Do you like it better than anything else?” 
asked Alice. 

“Yes, Ido. And I just love moving pictures, 
don’t you?” 

“Indeed we do,” put in Ruth. “But we were 
never cut out for riders.” 

pia lke it!” exclaimed Alice. “I'd like to 
know how to ride a horse as well as you do.” 

“ll show you,” offered Estelle. “Ill be very 
glad to, and it’s easy. It’s like swimming—all 
you need is confidence, and to learn not to be 
afraid of your horse but to trust him. Let me 
show you some day.” 

“T believe I will!’ decided Alice, with flashing 
eyes. “It will be great.” 


boo ae 


74 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Better ask father,” suggested Ruth. 
“Oh, he’ll let me, I know. We've ridden some, 


you know; but I would like to ride as well as 


Estelle,” and Alice and Estelle began to talk over 
their plans for taking and giving riding lessons. 
In the midst of the talk the return of the boy 
who went daily to the village for mail was an- 
nounced. 

“Oh, I hope my new waist has come!” Alice 
exclaimed, for she had written to her dressmaker 
to send one by parcel post. There was a pack- 
age for her—the one she expected—and also some 
letters, as well as one for Ruth. Estelle showed 
no interest when the distribution of the mail was 
going on. 

“Don’t you expect anything?” asked Alice. 

“Any what?” 

“hetters.” 

“Why, no, I don’t believe I do,” was the 
slowly given answer. “I don’t write any, so I 
don’t get any, I suppose,” and both girls noticed 
that there was a far-away look in Estelle’s eyes. 
Perhaps it was a wistful look, for surely all girls 
like to get letters from some one. 

“T believe she is estranged from her family,” 
decided Alice to her sister afterward. “Did you 
see how pathetic she looked when we got letters 
and she didn’t?” 


A MASSED ATTACK 75 


“Well, I didn’t notice anything special,’ Ruth 
replied. “But there is something queer about her, 
I must admit. She is so absent-minded at times. 
This morning I asked her if she wanted to go for 
a walk, and she said she had no ticket.” 

“No ticket ?” 

“Yes, that’s what she said. And when I 
laughed and told her one didn’t need a ticket to 
walk around Oak Farm, she sort of ‘came to’ 
and said she was thinking about a boat.” 

“A boat—what boat?” 

“That was all she said. Then she began to 
talk about something else.” 

“Do you know what I think?” asked Alice, 
suddenly. 

“No. But then you think so many things it 
isn’t any wonder I can’t keep track of them.” 

“TI think, as I believe I’ve said before, that she 
has run away from some ranch to be in moving 
pictures. That’s why she doesn’t write or receive 
letters. She doesn’t want her folks to know 
where she is.” 

“T can hardly believe that,’ declared Ruth. 
“She is too nice and refined a girl to have done 
anything like that. No, I just think she is a bit 
queer, that is all. But certainly she doesn’t tell 
much about herself.” 

However, further speculation regarding Estelle 


76 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Brown was cut short, as orders came for the ap- 
pearance of nearly the entire company in one of 
the plays. 

The first scene was to take place in a Southern 
town, and for the purpose a street had been con- 
structed by Pop Snooks and his helpers. There 
was a stately mansion, smaller houses, a store or 
two and some other buildings. True, the build- 
ings were but shells, and, in some cases, only 
fronts, but they showed well in the picture. 

Ruth, Alice, and a number of the girls and 
women and men were to be the inhabitants of 
this village, and were to take part in an alarm 
and flee the place when it was known that the 
Confederate forces were being driven back and 
through the place by the Unionists. 

“Come on—get dressed!” cried Alice, and soon 
she, her sister, Estelle and the other women were 
donning their Southern costumes, wide skirts, 
with hoops to puff them out, and broad-brimmed 
hats, under which curls showed. 

There was to be a massed attack by the Union- 
ists on the town, through which the Confederates 
were to flee, and it was the part of Ruth and 
Alice to rush from their father’s “mansion” bear- 
ing a few of their choice possessions. 

All was in readiness. The Southern defenders 
were on the outskirts of the town, drawn up to 


A MASSED ATTACK 77 


receive the Unionists. Toward these Confeder- 
ates, their enemies came riding. This was filmed 
separately, while other camera men, in the made 
street, took pictures of the activities there. Men, 
women and children went in and out of the 
houses. Though, as Mr. Belix Apgar said, “If 
you call them houses you might as well call the 
smell of an onion a dinner. There ain’t nothin’ 
to ’em!” 

Suddenly an excited rider dashed into the midst 
of the peaceful activities of the Southern town. 

“They're coming! They’re coming!” he cried, 
waving his hat. “The Yankees are coming!’ 
This would be flashed on the screen. 

Then ensued a wild scene. Colored mammies 
rushed here and there seeking their charges. Men 
began to look to their arms. Then came the 
advance guard of the retreating Confederates, 
turning back to fire at their enemies. 

“Come on now, Ruth—Alice! This is where 
we make our rush—just as the first of the Union 
soldiers appear!’ called Paul, who was acting the 
part of a Southern youth. “Grab up your stuff 
and come on!’ 

Ruth was to carry a bandbox and a case sup- 
posed to contain the family jewels. Alice, who 
played the part this time of a frivolous young 
woman, was to save her pet cat. 


78 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Here they come!” yelled Paul, as the first of 
the Unionists came into view at the head of the 
street. “Hurry, girls!’ 

Out they rushed, down the steps of the man- 
sion, fleeing before the mounted Union soldiers, 
who laughed and jeered, firing at the Confeder- 
ates, who were retreating. 

Ruth and Estelle, with some of the other 
women, were in the lead. Alice had lingered 
behind, for the cat showed a disposition to wiggle 
out of her arms, and she wanted to keep it to 
make an effective picture. 

Finally the creature did make its escape, but 
Alice was not going to give up so easily. She 
started in pursuit, and then one of the Union sol- 
diers, Maurice Whitlow, spurred his horse for- 
ward. He wanted to get in the foreground of 
the picture and took this chance. 

“Get back where you belong!” yelled the direc- 
tor angrily. ‘Who told you to get in the spot- 
light? Get back!’ 

But it was too late. Alice, in pursuit of the 
cat, was running straight toward Whitlow’s 
horse, and the next moment she slipped and went 
down, almost under the feet of the prancing 
animal. 


CHAPTER IX 
MISS DIXON’S LOSS 


“Loox out!’ shouted Paul, and, dropping what 
he was carrying, he made a leap toward the ani- 
mal Whitlow was riding. 

“Roll out of the way of his feet!” cried the 
director. : 

“Shall I keep on with the film?’ asked the 
camera man, for his duty was to turn until told 
to stop, no matter what happened. 

“Let it run!” Alice cried. “I can get out of 
the way. Don’t stop on my account!” 

She had been in motion pictures long enough 
to know what it meant to spoil a hundred feet or 
more of film in a spirited picture, necessitating a 
retake. She had seen her danger, and had done 
her best to get out of harm’s way. 

The cat had leaped into some bushes and was 
out of sight. 

Whitlow, his face showing his fear and his 
inability to act in this emergency, had instinctively 
drawn back on the reins. But it was to the intel- 

79 


80 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


ligent horse itself, rather than to the rider, that 
Alice owed her immunity from harm. For the 
horse reared, and came down with feet well to 
one side of the crouching girl, who had partly 
risen to her knees. 

At the same moment Paul sprang for the 
steed’s bridle and swerved him to one side. Then, 
seeing that Alice was practically out of danger, 
Paul’s rage at the carelessness of Whitlow rose, 
and he reached up and fairly dragged that young 
man out of the saddle. 

“You don’t know enough to lead a horse to 
water, let alone ride one in a movie battle scene!’ 
he cried, as he pushed the player to one side. 
“Why don’t you look where you're going?” 

Whitlow was too shaken and startled to reply. 

“Go on. Help her up and keep on with the 
retreat!’ cried the director. ‘‘That’s one of the 
best scenes of the picture. Couldn’t have been 
better if we had rehearsed it. Never mind the 
cat, Miss DeVere. Run on. Paul, you land a 
couple of blows on Whitlow and then follow 
Alice. Hold back, there—you Union men—until 
we get this bit of by-play.” 

Paul, nothing loath, gave Whitlow two hard 
blows, and the latter dared not return them for 
fear of spoiling the picture, but he muttered in 
rage. 


MISS DIXON’S LOSS 81 


Then Paul, shaking his fist at the Unionists, 
hurried on after Alice, and the retreat continued. 
What had threatened to be a disaster, or at least 
a spoiling of the scene, had turned out well. It 
is often so in moving pictures. 

In the remainder of the scene the girls had 
little part. They had been driven from their 
home, and, presumably, were taken in by friends. 
The rest of the scenes showed the Union soldiers 
making merry in the Southern town they had 
captured. 

“My! That was a narrow escape you had 
exclaimed Ruth, when she and her sister were at 
liberty to return to the farmhouse. “Were you 
hurt?” 

“No; I strained one arm just a little. But it 
will make a good scene, so Russ said.” 

“Too good—too realistic!’ declared Paul. 
“When I get a chance at that Whitlow a 

“Please don’t do anything!’ begged Alice. “It 
wasn’t really his fault. If I hadn’t had the 
cat _ 

“It was his fault for pushing himself to the 
front the way he did,” said the young actor. 
“Only the best riders were picked to lead the 
charge. He might have known he couldn’t con- 
trol his horse in an emergency. That’s where he 
was at fault.” 


{»? 








82 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“He is a poor rider,” commented Estelle. “But 
you showed rare good sense, Alice, in acting as 
you did. A horse will not step on a person if he 
can possibly avoid it. Mr. Whitlow’s horse was 
better than he was.” | 

“Just the same, I got in two good punches!” 
chuckled Paul, ‘‘and he didn’t dare hit back.” 

“He may make trouble for you later,’ Alice 
said, 

“Oh, ’'m not worrying about that. Tm satis- 
ea: 

There was a spirited battle scene later in the 
day between the Union and Confederate forces; 
the latter endeavoring to retake the village. 

A Confederate battery in a distant town was 
sent for, and the Union position was shelled. But 
as by this time the Union cannon had come up 
and were entrenched in the town, an artillery duel 
ensued. 

Views were shown of the Union guns being 
manned by the men, who wore bloody cloths 
around their foreheads and who worked hard 
serving the cannon. Real powder was used, but 
no balls, of course, and now and then a man 
would fall dead at his gun. 

Similar views with another camera were taken 
of the Confederate guns and the scenes alternated 
on the screen afterward, creating a big sensation. 


MISS DIXON’S LOSS 83 


Then came an attack of the Confederate in- 
fantry under cover of the Southern battery. This 
was spirited, detachments of men rushing for- 
ward, firing and then seeking what cover they 
could. At times a man would roll over, his gun 
dropping, sometimes several would drop at the 
same time. These were those who were detailed 
to be shot. 

The Unionists replied with a counter charge, 
and for a time the battle waged fiercely on both 
sides. Then came a lull in the fighting, with the 
Confederates ready to make a last charge in a 
desperate attempt to recapture the town. 

“I know what would make a good scene,” said 
Maurice Whitlow, during the lull when fresh films 
were being loaded into the cameras. “If we had 
an airship now some of us Union fellows could 
go for reinforcements in that. It would make a 
dandy scene.” 

“An airship!” cried Russ. “Say! remember 
that these scenes are supposed to have taken place 
in 1863. The only airships then were those the 
inventors were dreaming about or making in their 
laboratories. No airships in Civil War plays! 1 
guess not! Balloons, maybe, but no airships.” 

“More fighting! Camera!’ called Mr. Pertell, 
and again the spirited action was under way. 
Cannon boomed; rifles spat fire and smoke; men 


84 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


fought hand to hand, often rolling over dead; 
riderless horses dashed here and there. Now and 
then a man would narrowly escape being run 
down. As it was, several were burned from 
being too near the cannon or the guns, and one 
man’s leg was broken in a fall from his horse. 

But it was part of the game, and no one 
seemed to mind. A real hospital was set up at 
Oak Farm, not a mere shell of a building, and 
here the injured, as well as those who simulated 
injury, were attended. 

Ruth and some of the women made up as 
nurses, though this was not the big scene in which 
Ruth and Alice were to take part. 

“Confederates retreat!’ directed Mr. Pertell, 
and the Southern forces, having been defeated, 
were forced to withdraw. ‘Their attempt to re- 
capture their town had failed. 

“Whew! that was hot work!” cried Paul, as 
he came back to the farmhouse, having played his 
part as a Confederate soldier. 

“It certainly was,” agreed Mr. DeVere, who 
had been the directing Union General. Now that 
the “war” was over Northerners and Southerners 
_ mingled together in friendly converse, their dif- 
ferences forgotten. 

“T just can’t bear the smell of powder!” com- | 
plained Miss Dixon. “I wish I had my salts.” 


MISS DIXON’S LOSS 85 


“Tl get them for you, dear,” offered Miss Pen- 
nington. “I’m going up to our rooms.” The 
former vaudeville actresses, with Ruth, Alice, 
and some of the others, were resting on the farm- 
house porch. 

Miss Dixon smelled the salts and declared she 
felt much better. 

“There’s to be a dance in the village to-night,” 
Paul remarked at the supper table. 

“Let’s go!” proposed Alice. “Will you take 
me, Paul?” 

“Of course I will.” 

“May I have the pleasure?’ asked Russ, of 
Ruth. 

“Why, yes, if the rest go.” 

“We'll all go!” chimed in Miss Dixon. “Some 
of the extra men are good dancers. They proved _ 
it in the ballroom scene the other day. We can. 
get a man, Pearl.” 

“All right, my dear, just as you say.” 

The little party was soon arranged. 

“Estelle might like to go,” suggested Alice. 

“ll go to ask her,” offered Ruth, for Miss 
Brown had quit the supper table early and gone 
to her room. 

As Ruth mounted the stairs she heard Miss 
Dixon and Miss Pennington talking in the hall 
outside their rooms. 


86 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T can’t see where it can be,’ Miss Dixon was 
saying. 

“It was on your dresser when I went up for 
the salts,” said her chum. ‘“‘Are you sure you 
didn’t take it after that?” 

“Positive! It’s gone—that’s all there is to it.” 

“What’s gone?” asked Ruth. 

“One of my rings,’ was Miss Dixon’s answer. 
“T left it on my dresser and my door was open. 
It was there when I went down to supper, and 
we were all at the table together i 

“Except Estelle Brown!’ said Miss Penning- 
ton quickly. 





GEAP TER Xt 
LIEUTENANT VARLEY 


For a moment Ruth stood looking with wide- 
open eyes at the two former vaudeville actresses. 
On their part they stared boldly at Ruth, and 
then Miss Dixon turned and slightly winked at 
Miss Pennington. 

“That was one of your valuable rings, wasn’t 
it, dear?” asked Miss Pennington, in deliberate 
tones. 

“Tt certainly was—the best diamond I had. I 
simply won’t let it be lost—or taken. I’m going 
to have it back!” 

She spoke in a loud tone, and the door of 
Fstelle’s room, farther down the hall, opened. 
Estelle looked out. She was in negligée, and she 
seemed to be suffering. 

“Has anything happened?” she asked. 

“Yes,” answered Miss Dixon. “Something has 
happened. Some one has stolen my diamond 
ring!’ 

“Oh!” gasped Ruth, “you shouldn’t say that!” 

87 


88 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Say what?” 

“Stolen. It’s such a—such a harsh word.” 

“Well, I feel harsh just now. I’m not going 
to lose that ring. It was on my dresser when I 
went down to supper, and now it’s gone. It was 
stolen—or taken, if you like that word better. 
Perhaps you want me to say it was—borrowed ?” 
and she looked scornfully at Ruth. 

“Tt may have slipped down behind your 
dresser.” 

“T’ve looked,” said Miss Pennington. “You 
came up here from the table before we did,” she 
went on, addressing Estelle. “Did you see any- 
thing of any one in Miss Dixon’s room?” 

“TP? No, I saw no one.” Estelle was plainly 
taken by surprise. 

“Did you go in yourself,” asked Miss Dixon 
bruskly. “Come, I don’t mind a joke—if it was 
a joke—but give me back my ring. I’m going 
into town, and I want to wear it.” 

“A joke! Give you back your ring! Why, 
what do you mean?” and Estelle, her face flash- 
ing her indignation, stepped out into the hall. 

“T mean you might have borrowed it,’ went 
on Miss Dixon, not a whit daunted. “Oh, it isn’t 
anything. Ive often done the same thing myself 
when we've been playing on circuit. It’s all right 
—if you give things back.”’ 


LIEUTENANT VARLEY 89 


“But I haven’t taken anything of yours!” cried 
Estelle. “I never went into your room!” 

“Perhaps you have forgotten about it,” sug- 
gested Miss Pennington coldly. ‘You seem to 
have a headache, and sometimes those headache 
remedies are so strong = 

“T am tired, but I have no headache,” said 
Estelle simply, “nor have I taken any strong head- 
ache remedies, as you seem to suggest. I haven’t 
been walking in my sleep, either. And I certainly 
was not in your room, Miss Dixon, nor do I know 
anything about your ring,’ and with that she 
turned and entered her room, whence, presently, 
came the sound of sobbing. 

For a moment Ruth stood still, looking at the 
two rather flashy actresses, and wondering if 
they really meant what they had insinuated. Then 
Alice’s voice was heard calling: 

“J say, Ruth, are you and Estelle coming? 
The boys have the auto and they'll take us in. 
Come on.” 

Ruth did not answer, and Alice came running 
up the stairs. She came to a halt as she saw the 
trio standing in the hall. 

“Well, for the love of trading stamps! what’s 
it all about?’ she asked. ‘“‘Are you posing for 
Faith, Hope and Charity?” 

“Certainly not Charity,’ murmured Ruth. 





g0 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“And I certainly have lost what little faith I 
had, though I hope I do get my ring back,” 
sneered Miss Dixon. 

“Your ring? What’s the matter?” asked Alice. 
“Have you lost something?” 

“My diamond ring was taken off my dresser,” 
said the actress. 

“And that Estelle Brown was up here ahead of 
us, and all alone,’ said Miss Pennington. “She 
may have borrowed it and forgotten to return it.” 

“That’s what one gets for leaving one’s valu- 
able diamond rings around where these extra 
players are allowed to have free access,” sneered 
Miss Dixon. 

“You mean that little chip diamond ring of 
yours with the red garnets around it?” asked 
Alice. 

“Tt isn’t a chip diamond at all!’ fired back Miss 
Dixon. “It was a valuable ring.” 

“Comparatively, perhaps, yes,” and Alice’s 
voice was coolly sneering, though she rarely al- 
lowed herself this privilege. “I’m sorry it is 
lost 3 

“Why don’t you say taken?’ asked Miss Pen- 
nington. 

“Because I don’t believe it was,’”’ snapped Alice. 
“Either you forgot where you laid it or it has 
dropped behind something. As for thinking 





LIEUTENANT VARLEY QI 


Estelle Brown even borrowed it, that’s all non- 
sense! I don’t believe a word of it.” 

“Nor I!” exclaimed Ruth. 

“Did you speak to her about it?’ asked Alice, 
and then as the sound of sobbing came from 
Estelle’s room she burst out with: 

“You horrid things! I believe you did! Shame 
on you!” and she hurried to the closed door. 

“It is I—Alice,” she whispered. “Let me in. 
It’s all a terrible mistake. Don’t let it affect you 
so, Estelle dear!” 

Then Alice opened the unlocked door and went 
in. Ruth paused for a moment to say: 

“T think you have made a terrible mistake, Miss 
Dixon,” and then she followed her sister to com- 
fort the crying girl. 

“Humph! Mistake!’ sneered Miss Dixon. 

“That’s what we get for mixing in with ama- 
teurs,’ added her chum. “Come on, we'll speak 
to Mr. Pertell about it.” 

But, for some reason or other, the director was 
not told directly of the loss of the ring, nor was 
Estelle openly accused. She felt as badly, though, 
as if she had been, even when Ruth and Alice 
tried to comfort her. 

Hstelle had left the table early, but though she 
had passed Miss Dixon’s room, she said she had 
seen no one about. 


g2 MOVING'PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Don’t mind about the old ring!” said Alice. 
“Tt wasn’t worth five dollars.” 

“But that I should be accused of taking even 

five dollars!” 
_. “You’re not!” said Ruth, quickly. “They don’t 
dare make an open accusation. I wouldn’t be 
surprised if Miss Dixon found she had lost her 
ring and she’s ashamed to acknowledge it.” 

“Oh, but it is dreadful to be suspected!” sighed 
Fstelle. 

“You’re not—no one in his senses would think 
of even dreaming you took so much as a pin!’ 
cried Alice. “It’s positively silly! I wouldn’t 
make such a fuss over such a cheap ring.” 

But Miss Dixon did make a “fuss,” inasmuch 
as she talked often about her loss, though she still 
made no direct accusation against Estelle. But 
Miss Dixon and her chum made life miserable 
for the daring horsewoman. They often spoke in 
her presence of extra players who did not know 
their places, and made sneering references to lock- 
ing up their valuables. 

At times Estelle was so miserable that she 
threatened to leave, but Ruth and Alice would 
not hear of it and offered to lay the whole matter 
before Mr. Pertell and have him settle it by de- 
manding that the loser of the ring either make a 
direct accusation or else keep quiet about her loss. 


LIEUTENANT VARLEY 93 


Mr. DeVere, who was appealed to by his daugh- 
ters, voted against this, however. 

“It is best not to pay any attention to those 
young ladies,” he advised. “The friends of 
Estelle know she would not do such a thing, and 
no one takes either Miss Dixon or Miss Penning- 
ton very seriously—not half as seriously as they 
take themselves. It will all blow over.” 

There were big times ahead for the moving 
picture girls and their friends. Some of the most 
important battle scenes were soon to be filmed, 
those that had already been taken having been 
skirmishes. 

“T have succeeded in getting two regiments of 
the state militia to take part in a sham batile for 
our big play,” said Mr. Pertell one day. “They 
are to come to this part of the country for their 
annual manoeuvers under the supervision of the 
regular army officers, and by paying their ex- 
penses I can have them here for a couple of days. 

“They will come with their horses, tents, and 
everything, so we shall have some real war scenes 
—that is, as real as can be had with blank cart- 
ridges. It will be a great thing for my film.” 

“And will they work in with our players?” 
asked Mr. DeVere. 

“Oh, yes, indeed! I intend to use your daugh- 
ters in the spy and hospital scenes, and you as 


94 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


one of the generals. In fact, Mr. Devere, I de- 
pend on you to coach the militia men. For 
though they know a lot about military matters, 
they do not know how best to pose for the camera. 
So I'll be glad if you will act as a sort of stage 
manager.” 

“T shall be pleased to,” answered the old 
player. And he was greatly delighted at the op- 
portunity. 

About a week after Mr. Pertell had mentioned 
that two regiments of militia were coming to Oak 
Farm, Ruth and Alice awakened one morning to 
see the fields about them dotted with tents and 
soldiers moving about here and there. 

“Why, it does look just like a real war camp!” 
exclaimed Alice, who, in 4 very becoming dress- 
ing gown, was at the window. “Oh, isn’t it 
thrilling! How dare you?” she exclaimed, draw- 
ing hastily back. 

“What was it?” asked Ruth from her room. 

“One of the te had the see to wave 
his hand at me.’ 

“You shouldn’t have looked out.” 

“Ha! <A pity I can’t look out of my own win- 
dow,” and to prove that she was weil within her 
rights Alice looked out again, and pretended not 
to see a young man who was standing in the yard 
below. 


ay ae 


LIEUTENANT VARLEY 95 


There was a bustle of excitement at the break- 
fast table. All the players were eager to know 
what parts they would have, for this was the big- 
gest thing any of them had yet been in—with two 
regiments taking the field one against the other, 
with many more cannon and guns than Mr. Per- 
tell had hitherto used. 

“T’ll be able to throw on the screen a real battle 
scene,” he said. 

“The only trouble,” declared Pop Snooks, ‘‘is 
that their uniforms aren’t like those of the days 
of sixty-three.”” Pop was a stickler for dramatic 
correctness. 

“It won’t matter,’ said Mr. Pertell. ‘The 
views of the battle will be distant ones, and no 
one will be able to see the kind of uniforms the 
men wear. Those who are close to the camera 
will wear the property Civil War uniforms we 
have on hand. The officers of the Guard have 
agreed to that.” 

Considerable preparation was necessary before 
the big film of the battle could be taken, and to 
this end it was necessary to have several confer- 
ences among the officers and Mr. Pertell and his 
camera men and assistants, including Mr. DeVere. 
A number of the Guard officers were constantly 
about the farmhouse, arranging the plans. 

One afternoon Alice was sitting on the porch 





96 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


with Estelle, waiting until it was time for them 
to take their parts in a side scene of the produc- 
tion. A nattily attired young officer came up the 
walk, doffing his cap. 

“T beg your pardon,” he said. “I am Lieu- 

‘tenant Varley, and I was sent here to ask for 
Mr. Pertell. Perhaps you can tell me where I 
can find him?” 

Alice looked and blushed. He was the one who 
had audaciously waved to her beneath her win- 
dow, but now he showed no sign of recognition. 

_ As his gaze rested on the face of Estelle Brown, 
however, he started. 

“Excuse me!” he began, “but did you reach 
your destination safely?” 

“My destination!’ exclaimed Estelle. “What 
do you mean? I don’t know you!’ 

‘Perhaps not by name. But are you not the 
young lady whom I met some years ago in Port- 
land, Oregon, inquiring how to get to New 
York?” 

“You are mistaken,” said Estelle, and her voice 
was frigid in tone. “I have never been in Port- 
land in my life,” and she turned aside. 


SALE XI 
WONDERINGS 


For a moment Lieutenant Varley seemed to 
hesitate, and Alice felt sorry for him. He was 
distinctly not of the type that would try to make 
an acquaintance in this way just because Estelle 
was a pretty girl. He seemed embarrassed and ill 
at ease. But he was not the sort of young man to 
give up, once he thought he was right, as he ob- 
viously did in this case. To do so, Alice felt 
sure he reasoned, would have been to acknowledge 
that he was just the sort he seemingly was not. 

“T really beg your pardon,” he went on, ina 
firm but respectful tone. “I am sure I have met 
you before. I do not wonder that you do not re- 
member me, but I cannot forget you. Yours isn’t 
a face one easily forgets,” and he smiled genially, 
and in a manner to disarm criticism. 

“But I never was in Portland,” insisted Estelle, 
and it was plain that she was puzzled by his per- 
sistence but not offended by it. “And I don’t 
remember ever having seen you before.” 

97 


98 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Perhaps 1f I recall some of the circuinstances 
to.you it may bring back the memory,” suggested 
the lieutenant. ‘Believe me, I do not do it out 
of mere idle curiosity, but you seemed in such 
distress at the time, and so uncertain of where 
you wanted to go, that I really wished after I had 
directed you that I had placed you in charge of 
the conductor of your train.” 

“But I never was in Portland,” said Estelle 
again, “and though I have been in New York, I 
went there from Boston. Surely you have con- 
fused me with some one else.” 

The young officer shook his head. 

“T couldn’t do that,” he said with a smile that 
showed his white, even teeth. “It was just about 
this time three—no, four years ago. I was in 
Portland on business, and as I entered the railroad 
station you were standing there ed 

Estelle shook her head, smiling. 

“Well, for the sake of argument,” admitted the 
lieutenant, ‘‘say it was some one who looked like 





) 


you. 
“All right,” agreed Miss Brown, and she and 


Alice drew near the porch railing, on the other 
side of which stood the officer with doffed hat. 
“A young lady was standing there, and she 
seemed quite bewildered,’ went on Lieutenant 
Varley. “I saw that she was in some confusion, 





WONDERINGS 99 


and asked if I could be of any service to her. 
She said she wanted to get to New York, but did 
not know which train to take. I asked her if she 
had her ticket, and she replied in the negative. 
I asked her if she wanted to buy one, and she said 
she did, showing a purse well filled with bills 

“Then surely it could not have been I!” ex- 
claimed Estelle with a merry laugh. “I never 
had a purse well-filled with bills. We moving 
picture players—at least in my class—don’t go 
about like millionaires. Gracious! I only wish I 
did have a well-filled purse, don’t you, Alice?’ 

“Surely. But what else pepe: I’m inter- 
ested in the story.” 

“And I was interested in the young lady,” went 
on the officer. “I bought her ticket for her with 
the money she handed me, and put her on the 
train. She was quite young—about as old as 
you’’—and he smiled at Estelle, “and I asked her 
if some one was going to meet her. She said 
she thought so, but was not sure, at any rate she 
felt that she could look after herself. I left her, 
and meant to speak to the conductor about her, 
but did not have time. 

“T have often wondered since whether she ar- 
rived safely, and when I saw you sitting here I 
felt that I could ascertain. For I certainly tools 
you for that young lady.” 





100 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“TJ am sorry to spoil your romance,” said Es- 
telle, “but Iam not the one. I never was farther 
West than Chicago, and then only for a little 
while, filling a short engagement in the movies.” 

“Well, I won’t insist on your identity,” said the 
lieutenant, ‘‘but I’m sure I’m not mistaken. How- 
ever, I won’t trouble you further " 

“Oh, it has been no trouble,” interrupted Es- 
telle. “I’m sure I hope you will find that young 
lady some day.” 

“Yt hope so, too,” and the lieutenant bowed. 
But, judging from his face, Alice thought, it was 
plain that he was sure he had already found the 
young lady in question. 

At that moment Mr. Pertell came out on the 
porch and saw the lieutenant. 

“Ah, I’m glad you are here,” observed the man- 
ager. “I want to ask you a great many things. 
This staging of sham battles is not as easy as I 
thought it would be.” 

“We can have the sham battles all right,” an- 
swered the officer, with a smile. “But I can imag- 
ine it is not easy to get good moving pictures of 
them. We have to operate over a large area, 
and we can’t always tell what the next move will 
be. Though, of course, for the purpose of making 
views we can ignore military regulations and 
strain a point or two.” 





WONDERINGS IOI 


“That’s just what I want to talk about,” re- 
qmarked Mr. Pertell. ‘In the attack, for instance, 
the way the plans have been made the sun is 
wrong for getting good views. Can’t we switch 
the two armies around?” 

“Well, I suppose we can. TIl speak to the 
colonel about it,” and then the two went inside, 
where Mr. Pertell had his office in the parlor of 
the farmhouse. 

“What do you think of him, Estelle?” asked 
Alice. 

“Why, I think he’s very nice, but he’s altogether 
wrong about me.” 

“And yet he seemed so positive.” 

“Yes, that is what makes it strange. But I 
never saw him before—that is, as far as I know; 
and I’m certain I was never in Portland. He 
must be mistaken, but it was nice of him to ad- 
mit it. I thought at first he was using the old 
method to get acquainted.”’ 

“So did I. But he isn’t that kind.” 

“He doesn’t seem to be.” 

Russ Dalwood came around the corner of the 
porch with Paul Ardite and Hal Watson, a young 
man lately engaged to play juvenile roles. Hal 
had become very friendly with the little group 
that circled around Ruth and Alice. 

“You girls have an hour yet before you go 


102 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


on,” Russ informed them. ‘We haven’t anything 
‘to do until then, either. Want to take a run in 
to town? I’ve got to call at the express office for 
some extra film, and the auto is ready. Where’s 
Ruth re” 

“Up in her room. I'll go for her,” offered 
Alice. “Shall we have time?” 

“Plenty. You can even buy yourself some 
candy—or let us do it for you,” laughed Paul. 

“We'll let you do it!” said Estelle, as Alice 
hastened to summon her sister. 

“Ruth! Ruth! where are you?” called Alice, 
as she ran upstairs—Alice seldom walked. 

“Here, just reading over my new part. What’s 
the matter?” 

“We're going for an auto ride with the boys. 
Come along. You can study in the car.” 

“Ves, a lot of studying I could do under those 
circumstances. But Pll come—lI want a bit of di- 
version. Who else is going?” 

Alice told her, and then spoke about the young 
hieutenant. 

“Wasn’t it queer he should be mistaken?” she 
asked. 

Ruth did not reply for a moment. 

“Wasn't it?” repeated her sister. 

“T was just wondering,” said Ruth, slowly. 
“Was it?” 


CHAPTER XII 
AN INTERRUPTION 


Waite Alice was putting on her hat Ruth 
looked at her in some surprise. 

“Was it?” she repeated. 

“Was what?” asked her sister. 

“Was it a mistake?” 

“Of course it was, Ruth! Didn’t I tell you 
Estelle said he must have taken her for some one 
else, as she had never been in Portland in her 
life? Of course, it was a mistake. What makes 
you think it wasn’t?” 

“Because, Alice, | am beginning to have doubts 
regarding Estelle.” 

“Doubts! You don’t mean about the ring?” 

“Of course not! But I am beginning to think 
she is not altogether what she seems to be.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, nothing serious, of course. And if she 
has done what I think she has it isn’t any worse 
than many girls have done, and have gained by it, 
rather than lost, though it was risky.” 

103 


104. MOVING FICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“You mean?” 

“T mean that I believe she isn’t telling us all 
she knows. She is hiding something about her 
past. And I believe it is that she has run away 
from home because her family would not let her 
go into moving pictures. You know we sort of 
suspected that before. Now, in that case, she 
would have every reason to deny that she had seen 
that young lieutenant in Portland.” 

“Why should she, providing I grant that you 
are right?” 

“Because he might know her friends and would 
tell them where she was. And she doesn’t want 
that known until she has made a reputation. I 
don’t blame her. If ever I ran away a 

“Ruth! you are not thinking of it, are you?” 

“Silly! Of course not. But if I should I 
wouldn’t want to run back home until I had some- 
thing to show for my efforts. It may be that way 
in Estelle’s case. She doesn’t want to return like 
the prodigal son.” 

“TI believe you’re entirely wrong,’ declared 
Alice. ‘What I think is that she perhaps comes 
of good people. When I say that I don’t mean 
that they were any better than we are, but that 
they so regarded themselves, and would look 
askance at motion picture players. Well, Estelle 
doesn’t want to bring any annoyance on her fam- 





AN INTERRUPTION 105 


ily, and that may be the reason she doesn’t tell 
much about herself. But as for that young offi- 
cer’s having seen her, I believe Estelle when she 
says he is mistaken. Don’t you?” 

“I don’t know what to believe,” returned Ruth. 
“But [’m not going to worry over it.” 

“And you won't tell her you don’t believe she 
is what she seems to be?” 

“Of course not, you little goose! But I’m go- 
ing to keep my eyes open. You know we may be 
able to give her some good advice. You and I, 
Alice, don’t meet with near the temptations that 
assail other girls in this business, and it’s because 
father is with us all the while. Now Estelle isn’t 
so fortunate; so I propose that we sort of look 
after her.” 

“Oh, I’m very willing to do that.” 

“And if we see anything that is likely to cause 
her trouble, we must shield her from it. That is 
what I mean by sort of keeping watch over her. 
At the same time, I believe that she is not alto- 
gether what she seems. She is hiding something 
from us—even though we are trying to be so kind 
to her. But she doesn’t really mean to do it. She 
is just afraid, I think.” 

“And you really believe that lieutenant knows 
her?” 

“He may. At least I think, from what you 


106 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


said, that he is honest in his belief. But we will 
-watch and wait. We must try to help Estelle in 
the hour of trial.” 

“Of course we will. Now hurry, for they are 
waiting for us.” 

“Such a funny thing just happened to me!” 
cried Estelle to the party of young folks when 
they were in the automobile and on the way to 
the village. “Il was mistaken for some one else.” 

“What—again?” asked Alice. 

“No, the same incident that you witnessed,” 
and she related the episode of the lieutenant as 
Alice had detailed it to Ruth. 

“That was queer,’ commented Hal Watson. 

“T should say so!” exclaimed Russ. 

“Was he at all fresh?” Paul asked, and his air 
was truculent. 

“Not in the least!’ Estelle hastened to assure 
him. ‘He was honestly mistaken about it, that 
was all,” and she enlarged on the incident, and 
seemed so genuinely amused by it that Alice 
nudged her sister as much as to say: 

“See how much in error you are.” 

But Ruth only smiled, and Alice noticed that 
she regarded Estelle more closely than ever. 

The party made merry in the town, going into 
the “Emporium,” for ice-cream sodas; and even 
the presence of Maurice Whitlow at the other end 





AN INTERRUPTION 107 


of the counter, where he was imbibing something 
through a straw, could not daunt Alice’s high spir- 
its. Whitlow smiled and smirked in the direction 
of his acquaintances, but he received no invitation 
to join them. 

As Estelle was going out in the rear of the 
party, the extra player slid up to her and asked: 

“Mayn’t I have the pleasure of buying you 
some more cream?” 

“You may not!’ exclaimed Estelle, not turning 
her head, and there were snickers from the other 
patrons in the place. Maurice turned the shade 
of his scarlet tie, and slid out a side door. 

“You're getting too popular,” chided Alice to 
her friend. “First it’s the young lieutenant, and 
now it’s your former admirer.” 

“I can dispense with the admiration of both!” 

“Even the lieutenant?” asked Ruth, meaningly. 

“Oh, he wasn’t so bad,” and Estelle either was 
really indifferent, or she assumed indifference in 
a most finished manner that would have done 
credit to a more experienced actress than she was. 

“What's the matter—are we late?” asked Paul, 
as, on the way back to Oak Farm, he saw Russ 
look at his watch and then speed up the car a 
bit. 

“Yes, a little. Mr. Pertell said he wanted to 
begin that skirmish scene at eleven exactly, and 


1o8 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


it’s ten minutes to that now. We can just about 
.make it. The sun will be in just the right position 
for making the film. It’s in a thicket you know, 
and the light isn’t any too good. That’s the scene 
you girls are in,” he went on. 

“Speed along,” urged Paul. “I’ve got to get 
into my uniform and make up a bit.” 

There is very little “make up” done for moving 
pictures taken in the open, and not as much done 
for studio work as there is on the regular stage. 
The camera is sharper than any eye, and make- 
up shows very plainly on the screen. Of course, 
eyes are often darkened and lips rouged a bit to 
make them appear to better advantage. Even the 
men make up a little but not much. For close-up 
views, though, where the faces are more than life 
size, artistic make-up is very essential. The cam- 
era, in this case, is a magnifying glass, and the 
most peach-blow complexion would look coarse 
unless slightly powdered. 

“We'll be all right if we don’t get a puncture,” 
said Hal. 

No sooner were these words out of his mouth 
than there came a hiss of escaping air. 

“There she goes!’ cried Paul. “Stop, Russ!” 

“No, we haven’t time. I’m going to keep on. 
It’s better to get in on the rims and cut a shoe 
to ribbons than to spoil the film.” 


Se 


AN INTERRUPTION 109 


They sped along in spite of the flat tire. And 
it was well they did, for Mr. Pertell was anxiously 
waiting for his players when they arrived at Oak 
Farm. 

“You cut it pretty fine,” was his only com- 
ment. ‘Don’t do it again. Now get ready for 
that skirmish scene.” 

This was one little incident in the big war play. 
In it Ruth and Alice were to be shown driving 
along a country road. There was to be an alarm, 
and a body of Confederate cavalry was to en- 
counter one of the outposts of the Union army. 
There was to be a skirmish and a fight, and the 
Union men were to be driven off, leaving some 
dead and wounded. The girls, though shocked, 
were to look after the wounded. 

All was in readiness. The soldiers, some drawn 
from the newly-arrived National Guards, were 
posted in their respective places. Lieutenant Var- 
ley was to play the part of one of the wounded 
Unionists, 

“All ready—come on with the carriage!’ called 
Mr. Pertell to Ruth and Alice, who were waiting 
out of range of the camera. They had rehearsed 
the direction they were to take. ‘Go on!’ called 
the director to Russ. “Camera!” 

The grinding of the film began, and Ruth and 
Alice acted their parts as they drove along in the 


110 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


old-fashioned equipage. Suddenly, in front of 
them the bushes crackled. 

“There they come!” cried Ruth, pulling back 
the horses as called for in the play. “The sol- 
diers !” 

But instead of a band of men in blue breaking 
out on the road, there came a herd of cows, that 
rushed at the carriage, while the horses reared 
up and began to back. 

“Stop the camera! Stop that! Cut that out!” 
frantically cried Mr. Pertell through his mega- 
phone. “Hold back those men!” he added to his 
assistant who had signaled for the Confederates 
to rush up. 





CHAPTER XIII 
FORGETFULNESS 


Rutu and Alice for the moment were not quite 
certain whether or not this was a part of the 
scene. Very often the director would spring 
some unexpected effect for the sake of causing a 
natural surprise that would register in the camera 
better than any simulated one. 

But these were real cows, and they did not seem 
to have rehearsed their parts very well, for they 
rushed here and there and surrounded the car- 
riage, to the no small terror of the horses, which 
Ruth had all she could do to hold in. 

“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Alice. “I’m 
going to jump out!’ 

“You'll do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed her 
sister. “Sit where you are! Do you want to 
be trampled on or pierced with those sharp horns, 
Alice?” 

“T certainly do not!” 

“Then sit still! This must be a mistake.” 

It did not take much effort on Ruth’s part to 

III 


112 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


make Alice remain in the carriage with all those 
cows about. For she had learned on Rocky 
Ranch that while a crowd of steers will pay no 
attention to a person on a horse, once let the 
same person dismount, and he may be trampled 
down. 

These, of course, were not wild steers—Alice 
could see that. But she thought the same rule, in 
a measure, might hold good. 

More cows crashed through the bushes until 
the road was fairly blocked, and then came an- 
other rush of many feet and the Union skirmish 
party came galloping along. They had received 
no orders to hold back, and so dashed up. 

At the same moment a ragged boy with a long 
whip came rushing up. Evidently, he was in 
charge of the cows, but when he saw the soldiers 
in their uniforms, a look of fear spread over his 
face. 

“T didn’t do nothin’, Mister Captain! Honest 
I didn’t!” he yelled. ‘These is pap’s cows, an’ 
I’m drivin’ ’em over to the man he sold ’em to. 
I didn’t do nothin’.” 

“Nobody said you did!” laughed Lieutenant 
Varley with a bow to Ruth and Alice in the car- 
riage. “But why did you drive them in here to 
spoil the picture?” 

“T didn’t know nothin’ about no picture—honest 





FORGETFULNESS 113 


I didn’t! I took this road because it was shorter. 
Don’t shoot pap’s cow-critters. I'll take ’em 
away.” 

“Well, that’s all we want you to do,” said Mr. 
Pertell, coming up with a grim smile. “You 
nearly got yourself and your cow-critters in 
- trouble, my boy. Drive ’em back now, and we'll 
go on with the film. Did any of ’em get in, 
Russ?” he asked. 

“Just a few, on the last inch or so of the reel. 
I can cut that out and go on from there. Hold 
the carriage where it is, Ruth,” he called. 

“All right,” she answered, for she had now 
quieted the restive horses. . 

“Don’t be afraid, boy,” said Alice to the lad. 
“You won't be hurt.” 

“And won't they hurt pap’s cow-critters, 
neither ?” 

“No, indeed. It was all a mistake.” 

“T—I didn’t know there was no war goin’ on,” 
remarked the lad, as he sent an intelligent dog 
he had with him after the straying animals. “Me 
an’ pap we lives away over yonder on t’other side 
of the mountain. An’ we don’t never hear no 
news. I was plum skeered when I seen all them 
ossifers. Thought sure I was ketched, same as 
I’ve heard my grandpap tell about bein’ ketched 
in the army. He was a soldier with Sherman, 


114 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


and I’ve heard him tell about capturin’ cow-crit- 
ters when they was on the march.” 

“Well, this would be like old times to him, I 
suppose,” said Mr. Pertell. “But this is only in 
fun, my boy—to make motion pictures. So take 
your cows away and we'll go on with the work. 
Drive ’em on,” and the boy did so with a curious, 
backward look at the girls in the carriage, and at 
the Union soldiers, who were going back to their 
places to get ready anew for the skirmish charge. 

“And this time we'll have it without cows,” 
said Mr. Pertell. “They might go all right in a 
film of Sherman’s march, but not in this skirmish 
fight. All ready now. Take your places again.” 

The preliminary advance of the carriage, con- 
taining Ruth and Alice had been filmed all right. 
Very little need be cut out. Once the cows were 
beyond the camera range, Russ again began grind- 
ing away at the film. 

“Now come on—Union soldiers!” cried the di- 
rector. 

From their waiting place Lieutenant Varley led 
his men; and as they swept on past the carriage, 
Alice and Ruth registering fear, the Confederates 
rushed out to meet them. 

Then began the skirmish. Guns popped. 
Horses reared, some throwing their riders unex- 
pectedly, but this made it all the more realistic. 





FORGETFULNESS 115, 


Men fought hand to hand with swords, using only 
the flats, of course. Horses collided one with an- 
other, and the animals seemed to enter into the 
spirit of the conflict fully as much as did the 
men. There was a rattle of rifles, but no cannon 
were used in this scene. 

Russ and his helpers filmed it, and, standing 
behind them watching the mimic fight, was the 
director, shouting orders through his megaphone 
and, when he could not make himself heard in this 
way, using a field telephone, calling his instruc- 
tions to helpers stationed out of sight in the 
bushes, where they could relay the commands to 
those taking part in the skirmish. ’ 

“A little livelier now!” yelled Mr. Pertell. 
“Give way, you Union fellows, as though you 
were beaten, and then drive them back to the 
fight, Mr. Varley. That’s the way!’ 

The conflict raged and the cameras clicked 
away. It was all one to the camera men—a parlor 
drama or a sanguinary conflict. So long as the 
shutter worked perfectly, as long as the focus was 
correct and the film ran freely, the camera men 
were satisfied. 

“Now you Confederates pretend to be over- 
whelmed, and then rally with a rush and sweep 
the Unionists out of the thicket!’ ordered the di- 
rector. 


116 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS {!N WAR PLAYS 


This was done, and, all the while, at one side 
of the picture crouched Ruth and Alice, as two 
Southern girls. They had leaped from their 
carriage and were waiting the outcome of the 
conflict, stooping down out of the way of flying 
bullets. 

This was a side scene in the war play, and did 
not involve the main story. Ruth and Alice, as 
did the other main characters, assumed various 
roles at times. 

“Come on now! You Unionists are beaten. 
Retreat!” called the director, and Lieutenant Var- 
ley’s men rode off, leaving him and some others 
injured on the field of the conflict. 

It was here that Alice and Ruth took an active 
part again. Ruth rushed up to the fallen lieuten- 
ant and felt his pulse. No sooner had she done 
so than the director cried: 

“Stop the camera! That won’t do, Miss De 
Vere!” 

“Why not?” she asked. 

“Because you felt his pulse with your thumb. 


No nurse would do that. The pulse in the thumb 


itself is too strong to allow any one to feel the 
pulse in another’s wrist. Use the tips of your 
first and second fingers. Now try again. Ready, 
Russ!” 

This time Ruth did it right. It was character- 


Vi) eee 
a ae a 


FORGETFULNESS 117 


istic of Mr. Pertell to notice a little detail like 
that. 

“Not one person in a hundted would object 
to the pulse being felt with the thumb,” he ex- 
plained afterward; “but the hundredth person in 
the audience would be a doctor, and he’d know 
right away that the director was at fault. It is 
the little things that count.” 

Ruth and “Alice busied themselves ministering 
to the wounded who were made prisoners by the 
Confederates. The lieutenant was put in their 
carriage and driven away. ‘That ended the scene 
at the place of the skirmish. 

“Very well done!” Mr. Pertell told the girls, as 
they prepared for the next act, which was in a 
room of a Southern house, whither the wounded 
had been carried. 

These were busy days at Oak Farm. With the 
arrival of the two regiments of the National 
Guard, pictures were taken every day, leading up 
to the big battle scene, which had been postponed. 
When they were not posing for the cameras, the 
guardsmen were drilling in accordance with the 
regulations of the annual state encampment under 
the direction of the regular army officers. 

“Well, have you quite recovered from your 
wounds?” asked Alice of Lieutenant Varley one 
day, as she met him outside the farmhouse. 


118 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Oh, yes, thanks to the care of your sister and 
yourself. By the way, I hope your frieiid Miss 
Brown is not angry with me.” 

“Why should she be?” 

“Well, because I thought I had seen hey’ be- 
fore.” 

“T don’t believe she is. I haven’t heard her say. 
But here she comes now. You can ask her,” and 
Estelle came around the turn of the path. Seeing 
Alice talking with the lieutenant, she hesitated, 
but Alice called: 

“Come on—we were just speaking about you.” 

“Tt wondered why my ears burned,” laughed 
Fstelle. 

“Perhaps you two are going somewhere,” said 
the officer, preparing to take his leave. 

“Oh, to no place where you are not welcome,” 
answered Alice, graciously, with a side look at 
her companion to see if Estelle objected. But the 
latter gave no sign, one way or the other. 

“Thank you!’ exclaimed the guardsman. “I 
have to take part in a little scene in about an hour, 
but I would enjoy a walk in the meanwhile. You 
are both made up, I see?” 

“Yes, we are Southern belles to-day,” laughed 
Alice. 

“Belles every day,” returned the lieutenant with 
a bow. 


FORGETFULNESS IIg 


“Nicely said!’ laughed Estelle. “You are im- 
proving!” 

She and Alice wore the costumes of genera- 
tions ago, big bonnets and hoopskirts. 

“Let's go over and see what they’re filming 
there,” suggested Alice, pointing to where a cross- 
roads store had been put up. 

The scene at the store was one to represent a 
dispute among some Southerners and some North- 
ern sympathizers. It was to end in a fight in 
which one man was to draw his revolver. 

All went well up to the quarrel, and then it be- 
came too realistic, for, by some chance, there was 
a bullet in the revolver instead of a blank cart- 
ridge, and it entered the leg of one of the dis- 
putants. He fell and bled profusely. 

“Get Dr. Wherry!” yelled Mr. Pertell. 

“Dr. Wherry went into the village this morn- 
ing to get some stuff,” Russ said, “and he hasn’t 
come back yet.” 

“Then somebody will have to go after him!” 
cried the director. 

“T’ll go!” offered Alice. “I can take this horse 
and carriage!” for a rig was hitched outside the 
“store.” 

“T’ll go with you!” cried Estelle, and then, in 
costume and made up for the pictures as they 
were, they got into the vehicle and drove off. 


CHAPTER XIV 
IN THE SMOKE 


“Do you think he’ll die?” asked Estelle, as she 
took the reins and flicked the horse lightly with 
the whip. 

“T hope not,” answered Alice. 

“Did it make you faint to see the blood?” 

“A little. Did it you?” 

“Yes. I can’t bear it! It makes me—— Oh, 
it makes me 21 | 
Estelle closed her eyes, and Alice was sur- 
prised to see her turn pale, even under her rouge, 

and shudder. 

“That’s queer,” Alice said. “I should have 
thought, being on a ranch as you were, you might 
have become used to accidents and scenes of vio- 
Jence.”’ 

“Who said I was on a ranch?” 

“Why, you did!” 

aid FF 

“Yes; don’t you remember? That day when 
we were talking about branding cows——’” 

120 





IN THE SMOKE 121 


“Oh, maybe I did. Id forgotten. Oh, dear! 
here comes an auto, and I’m not sure about this 
horse. I’m afraid he’ll start to rear.” 

At this intimation that there might be trouble, 
Alice’s face took on a worried look, and she fore- 
bore to press the questions she had been asking 
Estelle. 

The horse showed some signs of fear as he 
passed the automobile in the road, but the man 
driving the car was considerate enough to stop 
his machine and motion to the girls to pass. They 
did so, the horse getting as far to one side of the 
road as he could, his nostrils distended and his 
ears pricked forward. | 

“There! Thank goodness that’s over!” sighed 
Fstelle. “Now to make speed and get that doc- 
tor. I hope the man doesn’t die.” 

“T do too,” acquiesced Alice. “Did you see how 
sharply the man looked at us?” 

““Who, the man that was shot?” 

“No, the one in the auto. He stared and 
stared !” : 

“Probably he wondered where in the world we 
got a horse in these days that was afraid of an 
auto. I wonder myself where this steed has been 
in hiding. There are so many cars now that it is 
a wonder horses aren’t using gasoline as per- 
fume.” 


122 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“No, he wasn’t looking at the horse,” persisted 
Alice. “He was looking at us. Perhaps he knew 
you, Estelle.” 

“Why do you say that? I’m sure I never saw 
him before. Maybe it was you he was staring 
1 ad 

“No, it was you he was staring at, but I don’t 
blame him. You are very striking looking to- 
day.” 

“Tt’s this dress. Isn’t it quaint?” 

“And pretty! Oh, but we mustn’t talk so friv- 
olously when that poor man may be dying. We 
must drive faster.” 

“Talking isn’t going to make the horse go any 
slower. In fact, I think maybe he'll go quicker 
to get the trip over with sooner so he can be rid 
of our chatter. But I don’t think the poor man 
is badly hurt. He may bleed a lot, but they can 
hold that in check until we get the doctor.” 

They drove on, and were presently in the vil- 
lage. They had been told where Dr. Wherry had 
gone—to a drugstore to get some medical sup- 
plies—and thither they made their way. 

“Do you notice how every one is staring at us?” 
asked Alice, as they drove along the streets. 

“They do seem to be,” admitted Estelle, look- 
ing for the drugstore. “I guess it’s the horse; 
he is so bony he has many fine points about him, 


IN THE SMOKE 123 


as Russ said. And we're queer looking in these 
costumes ourselves.”’ 

When they alighted at the pharmacy and started 
in, they became aware of the growing sensation 
they were creating. For a little throng had gath- 
ered in front of the store, and more men and 
boys came running up, to form in two lines—a 
living lane—through which Alice and Estelle had 
to pass. 

“We certainly are creating a sensation,” gasped 
Alice, growing embarrassed. 

“Look! a regular bridal crowd,” said Estelle 
in a low voice. 

Though they undeniably presented a pretty pic- 
ture in their paint, powder, curls and hoopskirts, 
they were also an unusual one for that little coun- 
try village. 

“Look at the society swells!” cried one boy. 

“Dat’s de new fashion—makin’ your nose look 
like a flour barrel!’ added another. 

“Aren't those dresses sweet?” sighed a girl. 

“They must be the latest New York style,” 
added acompanion. “I heard that full skirts were 
coming in again.” 

“Well, ours are certainly full enough,” mur- 
mured Alice, looking down at her swaying hoops. 

And then some one guessed the truth. 

“They're actresses—the movie actresses !’ came 


124 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


the cry, and this attracted more attention than 
ever, for if there is one person about whom the 
American public is curious, it is the actor. 

“Oh my!” exclaimed Estelle, “now we are in 
for it. Hurry inside the store!” 

The girls fairly ran into the friendly shelter, 
and some of the crowd attempted to follow, but 
the drug clerks barred the way, guessing what 
the excitement was about. 

“Dr. Wherry!” gasped Alice. “Is he here?” 

“Right back there—in the prescription depart- 
ment,” a clerk said. “Which of you is ill?” 

“Neither one!” cried Estelle. “We want him 
for a man out at Oak Farm. He’s been shot— 
an accident in the play. Tell him to hurry, please, 
and then show us some way of getting out 
through a side door. I can’t face that crowd— 
this way,” and she looked down at her elaborate 
hoop-skirted costume, which might have been all 
right in the days of sixty-three, but which was 
unique at the present time. 

“What’s the trouble?” asked Dr. Wherry, com- 
ing from behind the ground-glass partition. “Oh, 
Miss DeVere and Miss Brown!” he went on as he 
recognized the moving picture girls. “Is some 
one hurt?” 

They told him quickly what the trouble was, 
and he cried: 


IN THE SMOKE 125 


“Vil go at once. You'd better come back with 
me in the auto if you don’t want to run the gaunt- 
let of the staring crowd. [Il bring my machine 
around to the side door.” 

“What about the horse we drove over?” asked 
Alice. 

“Vl have Mr. Pertell send a man for that.” 

The girls, in their curiosity-exciting costumes, 
managed to slip out the side door and into the 
doctor’s automobile without attracting the atten- 
tion of the crowd. Then they made the trip back 
in good time and comfort. 

“And to think we never for a moment thought 
of changing our things!” cried Alice, when they 
were at Oak Farm again. 

“Or even of rubbing off some of the make-up,” 
added Estelle. ‘But we were so excited—at 
least I was—when I saw the poor fellow hurt. I 
hope it is not serious.” 

“No, he’s lost a little blood, that’s all,” said 
Dr. Wherry. “But I thought you were used to 
such scenes, Miss Brown, coming from the West, 
as you did.” 

“T from the West? Oh, yes, I have been there. 
Come on, Alice, let’s see if they still want us for 
anything, and, if they don’t, we'll change our 
clothes,” and Estelle seemed glad of a chance to 
hurry away. 


126 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“TI wonder,” said Alice to her sister afterward, 
“whether she is really so squeamish as she pre- 
tends, or if she doesn’t want it known that she 
is from the West?” 

“It’s hard to say. Estelle is acting more and 
more queerly every day, I think.” 

“So do I. Though I am quite in love with 
her. She has such a sweet disposition.” 

“Yes, she is a lovely girl. I only wish there 
wasn't that bit of mystery about her.” 

“And it is a mystery,’ went on Alice. “Every 
once in a while I catch Lieutenant Varley looking 
at her, when he thinks he isn’t observed, and he 
shakes his head as though he could not understand 
it.at all’ 

“Then you think he still feels sure she is the 
girl he met in Portland?” 

“T’m positive he does, and he isn’t doing it to 
further his own ends and force an acquaintance 
with her, either. He honestly believes he has met 
her before.”’ 

“Well, itis very strange. But she doesn’t seem 
to want to talk about anything connected with 
her past.” 

“No, and I suppose we should not try to force 
matters.” 

The man who was shot was soon out of danger, 
and, meanwhile, the taking of the war scenes went 


IN THE SMOKE 127 


on with some one else in his place. A number of 
sham engagements had been fought, all working 
up to the big final battle, in which Ruth would 
play her part as an army nurse, and Alice would 
act as the spy. Estelle, too, had been given a 
rather important part, much to the annoyance of 
Miss Dixon, who had been expecting it. 

The vaudeville actress made sneering and cut- 
ting remarks about “extra players butting in,” 
and there were veiled insinuations concerning the 
missing ring, but Estelle took no notice, and Alice, 
Ruth and her other friends stood loyally by her. 

“We'll film that burning barn scene to-day,” 
said Mr. Pertell one morning at the breakfast 
table, when he had ascertained that the atmos- 
pheric conditions were right. “That’s the one 
where you two DeVere girls are surprised on your 
little farm by the visit of some Union soldiers. 
You have been caring for a wounded cousin, who 
has escaped through the Union lines, and at the 
news that the Yankees are coming you hide him 
in the barn. Then the Unionists set fire to it, and 
you girls have to drag him out. 

“There'll be no danger, of course, for the fire 
won't be near you—in fact, the barn won’t burn 
at all—only a shack nailed to it. And the smoke 
will be from the regular bomb. You have plenty 
of them, haven’t you, Pop Snooks?” 


128 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Oh yes, plenty of smoke bombs, Mr. Pertell.”’ 
- All was soon in readiness for the burning-barn 
scene. Ruth and Alice received the wounded 
cousin (an inside scene this) and then, when an 
old colored mammie (Mrs. Maguire) came pant- 
ing with the news that the Yankees were coming, 
the wounded Confederate was carried out to 
the barn. Then came the visit of the Yankees, 
who, suspecting the presence of the escaped pris- 
oner, made diligent search, but without success. 

“Fire the barn, anyhow!” cried the captain. 

Then came the spirited scene where Ruth and 
Alice got their wounded relative out. He was a 
slim young man, and they could easily carry him, 
for he was supposed to be overcome by the smoke. 

“Ready, Alice?’ asked Ruth, as they went 
through the action called for in the script. 

“Yes, ready. You take his head and I'll take 
his heels. Don’t be too stiff,’ Alice admonished 
the young man. “We can carry you better if 
you're limp.” 

“Tl be limp enough if I swallow any more of 
that smoke,” choked the actor. ‘‘It’s fierce!” 

Indeed, Pop Snooks had been very liberal in 
the matter of smoke bombs, Great clouds of the 
black vapor swirled here and there, and Ruth and 
Alice had to get free breaths whenever they 
could. 


IN THE SMOKE 129 


“Come on!” yelled the director through his 
megaphone. “Lively!” 

Alice and Ruth, half carrying, half dragging, 
the wounded soldier, staggered out, Russ clicking 
away at the camera. 

“Good! That’s good! It’s fine!” exclaimed 
the enthusiastic director. 

Ruth was conscious that she was suddenly 
dragging more of the weight of the man’s body 
than at first. But she thought one of Alice’s 
hands had possibly slipped off, and she did not 
want to call a halt to get a better hold. 

“My! But this is choking!” gasped Ruth. 

Finally, she staggered out into the open, drag- 
ging the soldier by his shoulders. She slumped 
down on the ground, in a place free from smoke, 
and registered exhaustion. 

““Where’s Alice?” cried Paul, who was holding 
back in readiness for his appearance in the scene. 
“Where’s Alice?” 

““Isn’t she there?’ gasped Ruth, rising on her 
elbow. 

“No, she isn’t. She must be 32 

“Hold that pose, Ruth! Don’t stir or you'll 
spoil the scene!” yelled the director. “We'll get 
your sister!” 





CHAPTER XV 
THE HOSPITAL TENT 


“THE show must go on!” This is the motto 
of circus and theatrical performers the world 
over. No matter what happens, under what strain 
or pain the player labors, no matter what occurs 
short of death itself, the public must not be al- 
lowed to guess that anything is wrong. And 
sometimes even death itself has been no barrier— 
for players have gone through with their parts on 
the stage when, but the act previous, they have 
learned that some loved one had passed away. 

And more than one clown has bounded into 
the sawdust ring with merry quip and jest, with 
a smile on his painted face, while his heart was 
breaking with grief. 

And so it was with Ruth DeVere. As she stag- 
gered out of the smoke clouds and saw that Alice 
had not followed, at once the dreadful thought 
came to her that her sister had been overcome 
by the fumes. And, although the smoke bombs 
were harmless as regards fire, the breathing of the 

130 


THE HOSPITAL TENT 131 


chemical fumes for any length of time might 
mean death. 

Thus, as Ruth was about to stagger to her feet 
to go back into the murky cloud to look for Alice, 
there came the director’s orders to “hold that 
pose!”’ 

The show must go on! That meant it would 
not do to spoil the scene, ruin the film, and neces- 
sitate a retake if, by any possibility, it could be 
avoided. 

“Stay where you are, Ruth! Stop the camera, 
Russ! Hold the pose—both of you. We'll go 
on from there when we get Alice out!” 

And Ruth, her heart torn with anguish, must 
remain. She was glad her father was not pres- 
ent. 

“Get in there and get the girl!’ cried Pop 
Snooks who was busy lighting more smoke bombs. 
“Get that girl, some of you fellows!’ For he 
had guessed in an instant what had happened. It 
was not the first time one of the players had been 
overcome by the heavy fumes. 

Into the cloud dashed some of the head prop- 
erty man’s helpers. Russ and Paul, who could 
leave their posts while the camera was not in 
motion, also penetrated the murkiness. 

Fortunately, Alice had been overcome when 
within a few feet of the clear atmosphere, and it 


132 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


was the work of but an instant for Paul to carry 
her outside, where she could breathe pure air. 

“The poor dear!” cried Mrs. Maguire. “Here, 
give her this ammonia and water.” 

“Don’t come too close to her, Mrs. Maguire!” 
warned the director. “Your black make-up will 
come off on her face, and it will show in the film.” 

The director had to think of all those things, 
though it might seem a bit heartless. 

“Tl be careful,’ promised the motherly old 
woman. “T’ll be careful.” 

Alice sipped the aromatic spirits of ammonia, 
and felt better. 

“Did I faint?” she asked. “How silly of me!” 

“Are you all right?” asked Ruth, still in her 
place by the side of the soldier, who was sup- 
posed to be unconscious. 

“Yes, Ruth dear. I’m all right now. Oh, and 
did I leave you to carry him all alone? I’m so 
sorry!” ~ 

“It was all right. I dragged him.” 

“Yes, the scene is all right,” said Mr. Pertell. 
“Now, Alice, I don’t want to be heartless, but will 
you be ready to go on in this, or shall we aban- 
don it and make a retake?” 

“Oh, Pll go on. Just a moment, and I'll be all 
right.” 

After a minute or two the plucky girl recovered 


THE HOSPITAL TENT 133 


from the effects of the smoke, and, though she 
was weak and wan, managed to go through her 
part. She and Ruth carried their “cousin” out of 
the burning barn which was then allowed to fall 
to ruins. Or rather, the extra part, built on for 
the purpose, was, Pop Snook’s smoke bombs ef- 
fectually concealing from the audience the fact 
that the real barn was not in the least harmed. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” said Alice with a 
sigh, as a little later she washed off her make-up 
and donned her ordinary clothes. 

“Do you feel bad?” her sister asked. 

“Yes, sort of choked.” 

“Then let’s take a walk up on the hill where 
there is always a breeze.”’ 

On the grassy eminence with the fresh breezes 
blowing about them, Alice soon felt much better. 
But Mr. Pertell called off some of the scenes set 
down for next day, so that she might have a rest. 

“We'll soon be ready for the big hospital scene, 
Ruth, and also for the one where you try to get 
away with the papers, Alice,” said Mr. Pertell to 
the two girls one day. “And, in order that every- 
thing may run smoothly I’ve made a little change 
in the scenario. I’m going to have a preliminary 
hospital scene. In that you will be a sort of 
orderly, or assistant nurse, Ruth. And there 
comes an emergency in which you do so well that 


134 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


you are sent for to be a nurse in one of the big 
hospitals maintained near the front. That will 
make the story more logical. 

“So we'll have one of those hospital scenes to- 
day. Ill stage a small engagement, and have a 
number of men wounded. They'll be brought in, 
and there will be a night scene. The doctors and 
other nurses go off duty, and you are in charge. 
An emergency occurs—maybe a bandage slips 
from an artery and you sit and hold the wound 
until a doctor can come and tie the artery again. 
We'll work it out as we go along.” 

“Ts there anything for me?” asked Alice. 

“No, your part will stand all right as it is until 
you get to the big hospital scene. Come on now, 
Ruth; we'll have a rehearsal.” 

The rehearsal went off well, and the little 
change promised to strengthen the story of the 
war play. The hospital was set up near Mr. Ap- 
gar’s corn-crib. 

“And maybe that’ll be a good thing,” he said. 
“Tf you folks use enough of them there disin- 
fectants and carbolic acid, you may scare away 
all the rats and mice that eat my corn in the 
winter.” 

“Oh! will there be rats and mice?” asked Ruth, 
apprehensively. 

“Not in the hospital,” said Mr. Pertell with a 


oe a? ~ 


THE HOSPITAL TENT 135 


laugh. “It will be strictly sanitary—as much so 
as things were in the days of sixty-three.” 

The fight between the two forces was staged 
some distance away from the hospital, and the 
guns soon began to rattle and to roar again. The 
girls did not mind them by this time, however. 

This skirmish had no particular part in the 
general story, but it was filmed just the same, as it 
could be spliced in with the other fighting scenes. 

“And you can’t get too much of that,” Mr. 
Pertell said. 

Russ, with some helpers, was taking the fight- 
ing pictures preliminary to the hospital act. He 
was nearing the end of the reel in his machine 
when, to his dismay, he found he had forgotten 
to bring a spare one. 

“Here, you!” he called to one of the extra sol- 
diers lying lazily on the grass near the camera, 
“hop over and ask Pop Snooks to give you an 
extra reel for me.” 

The man did not answer. 

“Don’t you hear me?” yelled Russ, grinding 
away at the film which was being quickly used 
up. “Go and get me that reel!” 

Still no response. 

“Are you deaf?” shouted Russ, and then he 
thought perhaps the discharge of so many cannon 
had made the man unable to hear. 


136 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Go over and punch that fellow!” cried Russ 
to Paul. “Wake him up, and tell him to get me 
that extra reel.’’ 

“All right,” Paul assented. “I’d go myself only 
I have to carry a message to headquarters in a 
minute or two.” 

He ran over and kicked the soldier, who seemed 
to be asleep. 

“Hi! What’s the idea?’ demanded the rudely 
awakened one. 

“The camera man wants you to go to get him 
some film.” 

“Who—me ?”’ 

“Yes—you! Skip!” 

“T can’t go get no film!’ 

“You can’t? Why not?” 

“*Cause I’m dead, that’s why! I was told to 
be killed, and I was. I fell off my hoss dead, 
an’ I’m deader’n a door nail. I dassn’t git up to 
git no film for nobody. I’m dead!” 

And the man rolled over and closed his eyes. 


CHAPTER XVI 
A RETAKE 


“WHAT’s the matter over there?’ called Russ 
to Paul. “Is he going to get my film?” 

“He says he can’t.” 

“Can't? Why not? Has he lost his legs?” 

“No. But he’s dead. This is carrying realism 
to the extreme.”’ 

“Oh, good-night!” cried Russ. “I haven’t but 
a few feet left. Make him go.” 

“T won’t go I tell you,” the man cried. “I was 
told to play dead, and [{’m goin’ to,” and he stuck 
to the instructions he had received. 

Fortunately, one of Russ’ helpers was free a 
moment later, and he went for the extra roll of 
film, while the dead man enjoyed his part to his 
satisfaction. 

“Well, he did just right,” said Mr. Pertell, 
when told of the incident afterward. “I wish 
more performers would do exactly as they are 
told. Of course, I don’t mean to say a player 
must slavishly do just as I tell him. But in some 

137 


138 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


cases a dead man’s coming to life might spoil a 
big scene.” 

Matters were now in readiness for the prelim- 
inary hospital scene. A ward had been fitted up 
in a shed where electric lights could be used to get 
the necessary illumination, the current being 
brought from town. In the shed were ranged 
white beds, in which a number of wounded men 
were reposing. Other men were in wheeled 
chairs, while still others sat up as if recovering 
from a long and dangerous siege from wounds. 
All were picturesquely bandaged. 

The preliminary scenes had been taken. The 
doctor had made his rounds of the wounded on 
the cots. He had taken their temperature and 
had felt their pulses, while the other women of 
the company, as nurses, accompanied the surgeon 
on his journey. Other wounded were brought in. 

Night settled down in the hospital. The big, 
hissing electric lights were turned off, and from 
outside a window ‘“‘moonlight” streamed in. The 
moonlight, of course was made by another electric 
light, properly shaded. 

“Now, I think we’re ready for you, Ruth,” said 
the director. “You are on duty alone in the ward 
when the emergency occurs.” 

In the glow of the beams of light from the 
window Ruth, on duty alone, took her place. 





A RETAKE 139 


“All ready now!” called Mr. Pertell, from 
where he was standing behind Russ, who was 
grinding away at the camera. “You start from 
your half-doze, Ruth, and listen. Then you ap- 
proach one of the cots and discover that the band- 
age has slipped and that the man 1s bleeding to 
death. You press on the artery, and finally rouse 
another of the hospital patients—one not badly 
wounded—and send him for the surgeon.” 

Ruth carried out the instructions perfectly. Her 
acting was so very natural that afterward, when 
the film was shown, more than one person found 
himself holding his breath lest Ruth should re- 
move her thumb from the severed artery. 

The slightly wounded man limped out to get 
the surgeon, who came rushing in, and the artery 
was tied. Then followed words of praise for 
Ruth. This laid the foundation for her summons 
to a larger hospital when the proper time came. 

The next day more battle views were the order 
of the day. In one of these Estelle had to do 
some fast riding, to leap her horse across a ditch 
and speed away from pursuing troopers. 

“Arent you nervous for fear you'll fall?” 
asked Ruth, as the young horsewoman was mak- 
ing ready. 

“Well, no. I don’t think about that part. All 
I am afraid of is that I may get out of range of 


140 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


the camera. You see I’m not very old at this 
business.” 

“Just how did you come to get into it?” asked 
Alice. 

“Why, it was a sort of accident. I was on a 
boat one day, leaning over the rail looking at the 
water, when a gentleman came up, begged my 
pardon for speaking without being introduced, 
and asked me if I had ever been in the movies. 

“T hadn’t, though I had often thought I would 
like to be, and I told him so. He asked me to call 
at his studio, and I did. They gave mea ‘try out,’ 
found I photographed well, and they cast me for 
small parts. Then they found out I could ride 
and they let me do some out-door stuff. From 
then on I did very well, and when I heard your 
company was going to make a big war play, I 
applied to Mr. Pertell. He took me, I’m glad 
to say.” 

“And we're glad you’re here,” ejaculated Alice. 

“We'll go out and watch you jump; it fasci- 
nates me, though it makes me afraid,” Ruth de- 
clared. “My sister and I did some riding while 
we were at Rocky Ranch, but it was nothing to 
what you do.” 

“Oh, it takes practice, that’s all,” answered Es- 
telle. 

There were some animated scenes previous to 


A RETAKE IAI 


the one in which Estelle took part. There was a 
fight over the possession of a bridge, and the 
Confederates, having driven off their enemies, 
prepared to blow it up to prevent the Union army 
from using it. 

Estelle was to try to reach the bridge before 
it was destroyed, but, failing in that, she was to 
ride her horse to a narrow part of the stream and 
leap over: 

All went well, and the time came for her to 
take her swift ride to try to reach the bridge. On 
and on she galloped, until she was met by a col- 
ored man who warned her of the fact that in an- 
other moment the bridge would be destroyed. 

“She’s going pretty close!” murmured Mr. Per- 
tell, as he stood near Russ, who was filming the 
scene. “Some of those timbers may fall pretty 
near her.” 

But Estelle seemed to know no fear. She rode 
straight for the bridge, and she was only a short 
distance away when it blew up, the planks and 
rails flying high into the air. 

Then she turned her horse to reach, ahead of 
her pursuers, the place she was to jump the 
stream. So near was she to the bridge that she 
had to swerve her horse quickly to avoid being 
struck by a fragment of the falling wood. 

“Plucky girl, that!’ murmured Mr. DeVere. 


142 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


While Estelle was being filmed down by the 
stream, one of the assistant camera men, a new 
hand, prepared to take a scene where a Southern 
farmer rides up to warn the Confederate cavalry 
of Estelle’s escape, so they may take after her. 
Maurice Whitlow was the farmer. 

“Here, you!” cried Mr. Pertell to Whitlow, 
“ride down there and deliver the message—that’s 
your part in this scene.” 

There was a small automobile which Mr. Per- 
tell had been using standing near, and Maurice 
leaped into this and started across the field to- 
ward a detachment of the Southern cavalry. 

Away rattled Maurice in the car, and the cam- 
era man ground away, showing the farmer on his 
way to give the warning. Suddenly Mr. Pertell 
turned and saw what was going on. 

“For the love of gasoline, stop!” he cried. “The 
whole scene is spoiled. There'll have to be a re- 
take! Of all the stupid pieces of work this is the 
worst! Stop that camera!” 


CHAPTER XVII 
ESTELLE’S STORY 


“WHAT’s the matter?’ cried Russ Dalwood, 
running back from the stream where he had been 
to see that an assistant was successfully getting 
the scene after Estelle had leaped to the other 
bank. 

“Matter! Look!” cried the director, and he 
pointed to Maurice, speeding to carry his message 
in the small runabout. 

“Good-night!” gasped Russ, who understood 
at once. 

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” asked Paul. 
“Isn’t he running the machine all right?” 

“Oh, he’s running it all right,” said Mr. Pertell 
in tones of disgust. “And that’s just the trouble! 
I told him to jump on a horse with that dispatch,. 
and he goes in the auto!” 

“I suppose he thought it was quicker,” com- 
mented Paul. 

“Quicker! Yes, I should say it was! But Pll 
get him out of there quicker than he can shake 

143 


144 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


a stick at a dead mule. The idea of riding in an 
auto to carry a message in Civil War days. Why, 
there wasn’t a real auto in the whole world then. 
How would it look in a film to see an up-to-date 
runabout butting in on a scene of sixty-three. 
Get him back here and make him start over again 
on a horse as he ought to,” went on the director. 
“An auto in sixty-three! Next he’ll be sending 
wireless telephone messages about fifty years be- 
fore they were ever dreamed of !” 

Fortunately, not much of the film had been 
reeled off, and the scene was one that could easily 
be made over. Estelle’s leap was not spoiled, nor 
was the blowing up of the bridge. 

“Huh! I didn’t think anything about there not 
being autos in those days,” said Maurice, when he 
had been brought back and mounted on a horse. 

“That’s just it,’ commented Mr. Pertell. 
“You've got to think in these days of moving pic- 
tures. The audiences are more critical than you 
would suppose. Even the children now laugh at 
fake scenes and incongruities. And as for using 
a dummy in danger scenes, it’s getting harder and 
harder every day to get by with it. You stick 
to horses or to Shank’s mules, young man, when 
it comes to transportation in this war film. No 
autos where they are going to show in the film.” 

That was only one of the many details the 


ESTELLE’S STORY 145 


director and his assistants had to look after. If 
eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, it is much 
more so the price of good films. The camera sees 
everything in a pitiless light. It exaggerates 
faults and it refuses to shut its eye to anything 
at which it is pointed. The absolute truth is told 
every time. 

Of course, there are trick films, but even then 
the camera tells the truth fearlessly. It is only 
the on-lookers’ eyes that are deceived. The cam- 
era can not be fooled. And though a man may be 
seen to be shaking hands with himself or cutting 
off his own head, it is done by double exposure, 
and could not be accomplished were it not for the 
fact that the camera and the film are so fearlessly 
honest and truth-telling. 

“‘What’s the matter, Estelle?’ asked Alice of 
the rider that afternoon, when they were in Ruth’s 
room resting after the work of the day. “You 
seem to be in pain.” 

“Tam. I strained my side a little in that water 
jump. Petro slipped a bit on the muddy bank.” 

“Did you do much jumping out West?” asked 
Ruth, while Alice was getting a bottle of liniment. 

“In the West? I don’t know that I ever 
jumped there. I can’t remember fy 

Estelle paused, and passed her hand across her 
eyes as though to shut out some vision. 





146 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Are you faint?” asked Ruth. 

“No—no, it isn’t that. It—it is just that I— 
that I Oh, I wonder if I can tell you?” and 
Estelle seemed in such distress that the two sis- 
ters hastened to her. 

“What is it? Tell me, are you badly hurt?” 
asked Ruth. For she had known of performers 
who concealed injuries that they might not be laid 
off, and so lose a day’s work. “What is the mat- 
ter, Estelle’? 

“It is my—my head.” 

“Did you fall? I didn’t hear them say anything 
about it! exclaimed Alice. 

“No, it isn’t that,” and the girl looked from one 
sister to the other. “Oh, I wonder if I dare tell 
your” 

“If there is anything in which we can help 
you, tell us, by all means!” answered Ruth, 
warmly—sympathetically. “But we don’t want 
to force ourselves——’ 

“Oh, no! It isn’t that. I’m only wondering 
what you will think of me afterward.” 

“We shall love you just the same!” cried im- 
pulsive Alice. 

“Don’t be too sure. But I feel that I must teil 
some one. I have borne all J can alone. It is 
getting to the point where I fear I shall scream 
my secret to the cameras—or some one!” 





ESTELLE’S STORY 147 


Then Estelle had a secret! 

“Do tell us. Perhaps we can help you—or 
perhaps my father can,” suggested Ruth. 

“I don’t believe any one can help me,” said 
Estelle. “But at least it will be a relief to tell 
it. I—I am living under false pretenses!” she 
blurted out desperately. 

“False pretenses !’’ repeated Alice. At once her 
mind flashed back to Miss Dixon’s ring. Was it 
the taking of this that Estelle was hinting at? 
The girl must have guessed what was in the mind 
of her hearers, for she hastened to add: 

“Oh, it isn’t anything disgraceful. It’s just a 
misfortune. You remember you have been asking 
me where I learned to ride—whether I didn’t use 
to live on a ranch—questions like that. Well, you 
must have noticed that I didn’t answer.” 

“Yes, we did notice, and we spoke about it,” 
said truthful Ruth. 

“We thought you didn’t wish to tell,” added 
Alice. 

“Wish to tell! Oh, my dears, I would have 
been only too glad to tell if I could.” 

“Why can’t you?” asked Ruth. “Are you 
bound by some vow of secrecy? Is it dangerous 
for you to reveal the past?” 

“No, it is simply impossible!” 

“Impossible!” the two sisters exclaimed. 


148 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Yes, I can no more tell you what life I lived, 
where I lived, who I was, or what I was doing, 
up to a time of about three or four years ago, than 
I can fly.” 

“Why not?” asked Alice, puzzled. 

“Because the past—up to the time I named— 
is a perfect blank to me. My mind refuses abso- 
lutely to tell me who I was or where I lived— 
who my people were—anything of the past. My 
mind is like a blank sheet of paper. I can re- 
member nothing. Oh, isn’t it awful!’ and she 
burst into tears. | 


CHAPTER XVIII 
“WHAT CAN WE DO?” 


“You poor dear!” cried Alice, and she knelt 
down on the floor beside Estelle and put her arms 
about the weeping girl. Ruth, too, with an ex- 
pression of sympathy, stroked the bowed head. 

“We want so much to help you,’ Ruth mur- 
mured. 

“Let me get you something,” begged Alice. 
“Some smelling salts—some ammonia—shall I 
call any one—the doctor rage 

“No, I—Tll be all right presently,” said Estelle 
in a broken voice. ‘Just let me alone a little while 
—I mean stay with me—talk to me—+tell me 
something. I want to get control of my nerves.” 

Ruth did not seem to know what to say, but 
Alice pulled a small bottle from her pocket, and 
held it under Estelle’s nose. 

“It’s the loveliest new scent,” she said. “I 
bought a sample in town.” 

Estelle burst into a laugh, rather a hysterical 
laugh, it is true, but a laugh nevertheless. It 

149 





150 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


showed that the strain and tension were relaxing 
to some extent. 

“Isn’t it sweet?” Alice asked. 

“It is, dear. Let me smell it again. It makes 
me feel better,’ and Estelle breathed in deep of 
the odorous scent. 

“How silly I was to give way like that,” she 
went on. “But I simply couldn’t help it. This 
has been going on for so long, and it got so I 
couldn’t stand it another minute. How would 
you like it not to know who you are?” 

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” said Ruth, softly. 

“That, in a way, is why it has been such a relief 
to be in the moving pictures,” Estelle went on. “I 
could be so many different characters, and, at 
times, I thought perhaps, by chance, I might be 
cast for the very part I have lost—cast for my 
real self, as it were.” 

“You must have had a hard time,” said Alice. 

“I haven’t told you half the story yet,” Estelle 
went on. “Would you like to hear the rest?” 

“Indeed we would!” exclaimed Ruth. “Not 
from any idle curiosity, but because we want to 
help you.” 

“And I do need some one to help me,” mur- 
mured Estelle. “I am all alone in the world.” 

“You must have relatives somewhere!” insisted 
Alice. 


“WHAT CAN WE DO?” I51 


“None that I ever heard of. But then, who 
knows what might have happened in the life that 
is a blank to me—in the life that lies beyond that 
impenetrable wall of the past? 

“But I mustn’t get hysterical again. Just let 
me think for a moment, so I may tell you my story 
clearly. I shall be all right in a moment or two.” 

“Let me make you a cup of tea,” proposed 
Ruth. “Ti make some for all of us,” and pres- 
ently the little kettle was steaming over the spirit 
lamp, and the girls were sipping the fragrant bev- 
erage. 

“Thank you. That was good!” murmured Es- 
telle. “I feel better now. I'll tell the rest of my 
miserable story to you.” 

“Don’t make it too miserable,” and Alice tried 
to make her laugh a gay one. 

“Tf won’t—not any more so than I can help. I 
think it will do me good to let you share the mys- 
tery with me.” 

“Then it is a mystery?” asked Ruth. 

“Somewhat, yes. You may think it strange, 
but I can not think back more than three years— 

ifour at the most. I am not at all certain of the 
time. But go back as far as I can, all I remem- 
ber is that I was on a large steamer.” 

“On the ocean?” asked Alice. 

“No, on the Great Lakes. I was going to 


152 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Cleveland, which I learned when I asked one of 
_ the officers.” 

“And didn’t you know where you were going 
before you asked?” Ruth questioned. 

“T hadn’t the least idea, my dear. I might just 
as well have been going to Europe. In fact, when 
I first looked out and saw the water, I thought 
I was on the ocean.” 

“But where did you come from, what were 
you doing there, where were your people?” cried 
Ruth. 

“That’s it, my dear. Where were they? | 
didn’t know. No one knew. All I could grasp 
was the fact that I was there on the boat.” 

“Alone?” 

“Yes, all alone.” 

“But who bought your ticket—who engaged 
your stateroom?” questioned Ruth. 

“That is the queer part of it. I did it myself. 
When I first became conscious that I was in a 
strange place | was so shocked that I wanted to 
scream—to cry out—to ask all sorts of questions. 
Then I realized if I did that I might be taken for 
an insane person and be locked up. So I just 
shut myself in my stateroom and did some think- 
ing. 

“The first thing I wanted to know was how I 
got on the steamer, but how to find that out with- 


“WHAT CAN WE DO?” 153 


out asking questions that the steamship people 
would think peculiar, was a puzzle to me. Finally, 
I decided to pretend to want to change my room, 
and when I went to the purser I asked him if that 
was the only room to be had. 

“ “Why no, Miss,’ he said, ‘but when you came 
on board and I told you what rooms I had, you in- 
sisted on taking that one.’ That was enough for 
me. I realized then that I had come on board 
alone, and of my own volition, though I had not 
any recollection of having done so, and I knew no 
more of where I came from than you do now.” 

“How very strange!’ murmured Alice. “And 
what did you do?” 

“Well, I pretended that I had been tired and 
had not made a wise choice of a room, and asked 
the purser to give me another. 

“IT thought, when you picked it out, you 
wouldn’t like that one,’ he said to me, ‘but you 
looked like a young lady who was used to having 
her own way, so I did not interfere.’ 

“That was another bit of information. Evi- 
dently, I looked prosperous, a fact that was borne 
out when J examined my purse. I had a consider- 
able sum in it, and the large valise I found in my 
room was filled with expensive clothes and fit- 
tings. Yet where I had obtained it or my money 
or my clothes I could not tell for the life of me. 


154 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


All I knew was that I was there on board the 
. ship.” 

“And did you change your stateroom?” asked 
Ruth. 

“Yes; the purser gave me another one. And 
then I sat down and tried to puzzle it out. Why 
was I going to Cleveland? I knew no one there, 
and yet I had bought a ticket to that port—or 
some one had bought it for me.” 

“Did that occur to you?” asked Alice. “That 
some one might have had an object in getting you 
out of the way.” 

“Well, if they had, they took a very public and 
expensive method of doing it,” Estelle said. “I 
was on one of the best boats on Lake Erie, and I 
had plenty of money.” 

“Did you find in what name your room was 
taken?” asked Ruth. “That might have given you 
a clue.”’ 

“The name given was Estelle Brown,” was the 
answer. “I gave that name myself, for I recog- 
nized my handwriting on the envelope in which 
I sealed some of my jewelry before handing it 
‘to the purser to put in his safe. Estelle Brown 
was the name I gave.” 

“And was it yours?” asked Alice. 

“Tt haven’t any reason to believe that it was 
not. In fact, as I looked back then, and as I look 


“WHAT CAN WE DO?” 155 


back now, the name Estelle Brown seems to be 
my very own—it is associated closely with me. 
So I’m sure I’m Estelle Brown—that is the only 
part I am sure about.” 

“But what did you dv?” asked Ruth. “Didn’t 
you make some inquiries ?” 

“T did; as soon as I reached Cleveland. At first 
I hoped that my memory would come back to 
me when I reached that place. I thought I might 
recognize some of the buildings. In fact, I hoped 
it would prove to be my home, from which I had, 
perhaps, wandered in a fit of illness. 

“But it was of no help to me. I might just as 
well have been in San Francisco or New York for 
all that the place was familiar to me. So I gave 
that up. Then I began to look over the papers 
to see if any Estelle Brown was missing. But 
there was nothing to that effect in the news col- 
umns. All the while I was getting more and 
more worried. 

“I went to a good hotel in Cleveland and 
stayed two or three days. Then I happened to 
think that perhaps my clothes might offer some 
clue. JI examined them all carefully, and the 
only thing I found was the name of a Boston firm 
on a toilet set. At once it flashed on me that I 
belonged in Boston. I seemed to have a dim 
recollection of a big monument in the midst of a 


156 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


green park, of narrow, crooked streets and his- 
torical buildings. 

“Then, in a flash it came to me—I did belong 
in Boston. How I had come from there I could 
not guess, but I was sure I lived there. So I 
bought a ticket for there and went as fast as the 
train could take me. 

“But my hopes were dashed. Even the sight 
of Bunker Hill monument did not bring the elu- 
sive memory, nor did viewing the other places of 
historic interest. Yet, somewhere in the back of 
my brain, I was sure I had been in that city be- 
fore. I went to the place where my toilet set was 
bought, but the man had sold out and the new 
owner could give me no information. 

“{ did not know what to do. My money was 
running low, and I had not a friend to whom to 
turn. I happened to go in to see some moving 
pictures, and the idea came to me that perhaps I 
could act. I had rather a good face, so some one 
had hinted.” 

“You do photograph beautifully,” said Alice. 

“That’s what one of the managers in Boston 
told me when I applied to him,” said Estelle. “He 
gave me a small part, and then I learned that 
New York was really the place to go to get in the 
movies, so I came on, with a letter to a manager 
from the Boston firm. 


— 


“WHAT CAN WE DO?” 157 


“It must have been my face that got me my 
first engagement, for now I know I couldn’t act. 
But, somehow or other, I made good, and then 
I got this engagement with Mr. Pertell. 

“And that is my story. You can see what a 
strange one it is—for me not to know who I 
am. I’m almost ashamed to admit it, and that 
is why I have been avoiding all references to my 
past. But now I have told you, what do you 
think ?” 

“T think it’s just terrible!” cried Alice. ‘The 
idea! Not to know who you are.” 

“The question is,” said Ruth, “what can we do 
to help you? This must not be allowed to go any 
further. Valuable time is being lost. We want 
to help you, Estelle. What can we do? We must 
try to find out who you are.” 

“Yes, but how can you?” asked the strange girl. 


CHAPTER XIX 
A BIG GUN 


RutsH did not answer for several seconds. She 
seemed to be thinking deeply, and Alice, who was 
fairly bursting with numberless questions she 
wanted to ask, respected her sister’s efforts to 
bring some logical queries to the fore. 

“Then your hopes that Boston would prove to 
be your home were not borne out?” asked Ruth, 
after a bit. 

“No, but even yet I feel sure that I have lived 
at least part of my life in Boston, or near there. 
One doesn’t have even shadowy memories of big 
monuments and historic places without some 
basis ; and it was not the memory of having seen 
pictures of them. It was a real vision.” 

“And the name Estelle Brown?” 

“Oh, I’m sure that belongs to me. It seems 
a very part of myself.” 

“Did you tell any of this to Mr. Pertell or 
to the other moving picture managers?” asked 
Alice. 

158 


A BIG GUN 159 


“No. You are the first persons to whom I have 
told my secret,” Estelle said. “I was afraid if I 
mentioned it they might make it public for ad- 
vertising purposes, you know. They might make 
public the fact that a young actress was looking 
for herself and her parents. I never could bear 
that!’ 

“But you want to find your folks, don’t you?” 
asked Alice. 

“That’s the queer part of it,” Estelle replied. 
“T seem never to have had any relatives. The 
way I feel about it now, I would never know that 
I had had a father or a mother. I seem to have 
just ‘growed,’ the way poor Topsy did in Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin. That is another strange part of my 
present existence. I seem to be in a world by 
myself, and, as far as I can tell, I have always 
been there.” 

“What about Lieutenant Varley?” inquired 
Alice. 

“Lieutenant Varley?’ and Estelle’s voice 
showed that she was puzzled. 

“The young officer who said he met you in 
Portland.” 

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten. Well, I have ab- 
solutely no recollection of that, and I’m sure I 
would remember if I had been in the West. [’m 
certain I never was there.” 


160 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“And yet 1f you weren’t in the West how did 
you learn to ride so well?” Ruth queried. 

“That’s another part of the puzzle, my dear. 
Riding seems to come as natural to me as breath- 
ing. I don’t seem ever to have learned it any more 
than I learned how to dance. I seem always to 
have known how.” 

“There’s only one way to account for that,” 
Alice said. 

“How ?” 

“From the fact that you must have started to 
learn to ride and to dance when you were very 
young—a mere child.” 

“T suppose that would account for it. And 
yet, I can’t remember ever being a child. I don’t 
recall having played with dolls or having made 
mud pies. For me my existence begins about 
three or four years back, and goes on from there, 
mostly in moving pictures.” | 

“It is a queer case,’ commented Ruth. “I 
don’t know what to do to help you. Perhaps it 
would be a good thing to speak to Mr. Pertell 
about it. Often when children have been kid- 
napped, you know, their pictures are flashed on 
the screen in hundreds of cities, and sometimes 
persons in the audiences recognize them. That 
might be done with you, Estelle.” 

“No, I wouldn’t dream of doing that. Per- 


A BIG GUN 161 


haps something may turn up some day that will 
tell me who I really am. And perhaps I shall be 
sorry for having learned.” 

“No, you will not!” declared Alice. “You 
come of good people—one can easily tell that.” 

“Thank you, dear. And now I have inflicted 
enough of my troubles on you. Let’s talk about 
something pleasant.” 

“You haven’t burdened us with your troubles, 
Estelle dear,” insisted Ruth. “It is a strange 
story, and we are interested in the outcome.” 

“Indeed we are,” said Alice. “We want very 
much to help you.” 

“That’s good of you. But I don’t see what 
you can do. I’m just a sort of Topsy, and Topsy 
Pll remain. Now please don’t say anything about 
what I have told you to any one—not even to 
your father—unless I give you permission. I 
don’t want to be the object of curiosity, as well 
as of suspicion.” 

“Suspicion!” cried Alice. 

“Yes, about Miss Dixon’s ring.” 

“Oh! no one in the world believes you took 
that—not even Miss Dixon herself. I believe 
she has found the old paste diamond, and is too 
mean to admit it!” cried impulsive Alice. 

“You mustn’t say such things!’ objected her 
sister. 


162 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Well, neither must she, then. Oh, Estelle! 
Wouldn’t it be great if you should prove to be 
the daughter of a millionaire!” 

“Too great, my dear. Don’t let’s think about 
it. But I feel better for having unburdened some 
of my troubles on you. And if you will still be 
as nice to me as you always have been f 

“Why shouldn't we be?” asked Ruth. 

“Oh, I don’t know, but I though fe 

“Silly!” cried Alice, as she threw her arms 
about the strange girl and kissed her. 

Suddenly, from a distant hill, came a dull, 
booming sound, that, low as it was, seemed to 
make the very ground tremble. 

“What’s that?” cried Alice. 

“Thunder,” suggested Ruth. 

“Tt sounded more like an explosion,” asserted 
Estelle. 

“There it goes again!’ exclaimed Alice. 

“Look!” cried her sister. 

She pointed through the open window, and as 
the girls peered out they saw the top of the hill 
fly upward in a shower of dirt and stones. 

Once more the deep boom sounded. 

“It’s a big gun!” cried Alice. “I remember, 
now. Mr. Pertell said he wanted pictures of a 
siege of a fort, and he sent for a big gun to get 
explosive effects. Come on over!” 








A BIG GUN 163 


“And be blown to pieces?” objected Ruth. 
“Don’t dare go, Alice DeVere!” 

“Oh, come on! There’s no danger. Russ is 
going to make the films. I guess they’re just try- 
ing it now. It’s too late to make good pictures. 
Come on.” 

“Tl go,” offered Estelle. “I don’t mind the 
noise.” 

Ruth declined to go, so the other two girls set 
off. On the porch they met Russ and Paul, who 
confirmed their guess that it was a big siege gun 
which Mr. Pertell had sent to New York to get, 
so he might show the effect of explosive shells. 

“T’m going to film some to-morrow,’ Russ 
said. 

“Be careful,” urged Alice. “Don’t get blown 
up!” 

“Tm no more anxious for that than any one,” 
laughed Russ, and together they set off toward 
the place where the big gun was being tried out. 


CHAPTER XX 
A WRONG SHOT 


THE big gun which Mr. Pertell had secured tc 
make more realistic the war play he was preparing 
for the films, was an old fashioned siege rifle, 
made toward the close of the Civil conflict. It 
had not been used more than a few times, and 
then it had been stored away in some arsenal. 
The director, hearing of it, had secured it to fire 
at a certain hill on Oak Farm. 

This hill would, in the motion pictures, form a 
stronghold of the Southern forces and it would 
be demolished by shells from the large cannon, 
and then would follow a charge on the part of the 
Union soldiers. 

Real shells, with large explosive charges in 
them, would be used, but it is needless to say that 
when the shots were fired at the hill the players 
taking the parts of the Southerners would be at 
a safe distance. 

“They're just trying it out now,” observed 
Russ, who with Paul, was walking over the fields 

164 


A WRONG SHOT 165 


with Alice and Estelle. “Mr. Pertell wants to 
get the range, and decide-on the best places from 
which to make the pictures. I think we'll film 
some to-morrow if it’s a good day.” 

“What's the matter with your eyes, Estelle?” 
asked Paul, as he looked at her. “Were you 
working in the studio to-day? I know those lights 
always affect my sight.” 

“Why, no, I wasn’t in the studio,’ and then 
Fstelle realized why her eyes were so inflamed— 
it was from crying. She gave Alice a meaning 
glance, as though to enjoin silence, but she need 
have had no fears. Alice would not betray the 
secret. 

The big gun had been mounted on a level piece 
of land, not far from the hill, and on this plain 
had been thrown up earthworks behind which the 
Union forces would take their stand in an effort 
to reduce the Confederate stronghold. 

“They're going to fire!” cried Estelle as they 
came within sight of the gun, and saw, by the ac- 
tivities of the men about it, that a shot was about 
to be delivered. 

Alice covered her ears with her hands, and Russ 
and Paul stood on their tiptoes and opened their 

mouths wide. 

“What in the world are they doing that for?” 
asked Estelle. 


166 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T can’t hear a word you say!” called Alice, 
making her voice loud, to overcome her own hear- 
ing handicap. 

“There she goes!” cried Russ. 

The earth trembled as flames and smoke belched 
from the muzzle of the cannon, and the girls 
screamed. 

Something black was seen for an instant in the 
-air amid the swirl of smoke, and then another 
portion of the hill was seen to lift itself up into 
the air and dirt and stones were scattered about. 

“A good shot!” observed Russ, letting himself 
down off his tiptoes. “That would make a dandy 
scene for the film.” 

“That’s right,” agreed Paul, also letting himself 
down and closing his opened mouth. 

“Why did you do that?” asked Estelle, when 
the echoes of the firing had died away. “Why did 
you stand on your toes, and open your mouths ?” 

“To lessen the shock to our ear drums,” an- 
swered Paul. “It is the concussion, that is, the 
rushing back of air into the vacuum caused by the 
shot, that does the damage. By opening your 
mouth you equalize the air pressure on the inside 
and the outside of your ear drums, just as you do 
when you go through a river tunnel. When there 
is a partial vacuum outside your ear, the air in- 
side you presses the drum outward, and by open- 


A WRONG SHOT 167 


ing your mouth—or by swallowing you make the 
pressure equal. Sometimes the pressure outside is 
greater than the pressure inside, and you must 
also equalize that before you can be comfortable.” 

“But that wasn’t why you stood on your toes,” 
Alice said. 

“No; we did that to have less surface of our 
bodies on the ground so the vibration would be 
less. If one could leap up off the earth at the 
exact moment a shot was fired it would be much 
better, but it is hard to jump at the right instant, 
and standing on one’s toes is nearly as good. 
Then you present only a comparatively small point 
which the vibrations of the earth, caused by the 
explosion of the gun, can act upon.” 

“That’s a good thing to remember,” Estelle 
said. “Are they going to fire again?” 

“Tt looks so,’ observed Russ. “But if they 
knock away too much of the hill there won’t be 
any left for the pictures to-morrow.” 

“T believe they want to make the top of the hill 
flat,” said Paul. “They are going to have some 
sort of hand-to-hand fight on it after the Union- 
ists capture it,’ he went on. “I heard Mr. Per- 
tell speaking of it.” 

“There goes another!” cried Alice, as she saw 
the same preparations as before and one man 
standing near the gun to pull the lanyard, which, 


168 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


by means of a friction tube, exploded the charge. 
_ Once more the projectile shot out and, burying 
itself in the soft dirt of the hill, threw it up ina 
shower. 

“That'll save me a lot of work!” exclaimed a 
voice behind the young people, and, turning, they 
saw Sandy Apgar smiling at them. “That’s a 
new way of plowing,” he went on. “It sure does 
stir up the soil.” 

“Won’t it spoil your hill?” asked Alice. 

“Not so’s you could notice it. That hill isn’t 
wuth much as it stands. It’s too steep to plow, 
and only a goat could find a foothold on it to 
graze. So if you moving picture folks level it 
for me I may be able to raise some crops on it. 
Shoot as much as you like. You can’t hurt that 
hill !’* 

The men at the gun signaled that they were 
going to fire no more that day, and then, as it was 
safe, the young folks made a trip to see the extent 
of damage caused by the shells. 

Great furrows were torn in the earth and the 
stones, and the top of the hill, that had been 
rounding, was now quite flat, though far from 
being smooth. 

The next day had been set for Fleviite the 
scenes with the big gun in them. Contrary to ex- 
pectations, no pictures could be taken, as the 


A WRONG SHOT 169 


throwing up of the earthworks had not been fin- 
ished. But a number of men from both “armies” 
were set to work, and as it afforded good practice 
for the militia they were called on to dig trenches, 
throw up ridges of earth, and go through other 
needful military tactics. 

The girls had no part in the scenes with the 
big gun, except that, later on, they were to act 
as nurses in the hospital tent. 

On top of the hill a force of Confederates 
would be stationed, and they were to reply to the 
fire of the big gun. Of course, when the projec- 
tiles struck the hill the soldiers would be a safe 
distance away, but by means of trick photography 
scenes would be shown just as if they were sus- 
taining a severe bombardment. 

“Is everything ready?” asked Mr. Pertell, a few 
days after the setting up of the big gun, during 
which interval a sort of fort had been constructed 
on the hill and a redoubt thrown up. 

“T think so,” answered Russ. “We couldn’t 
have a better day, as far as sunshine is concerned. 
I’m ready to film whenever you are.” 

“Tl give the word in a minute. Paul, you’re 
in charge of a detachment of Union soldiers that 
storms the hill as soon as the big gun has silenced 
the battery there.” 

“Very well, sir.” 


170 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


The big gun rattled out its booming challenge 
and was replied to by volleys from the rifles of 
the Confederates on the hill and by their field 
artillery, which they hurriedly brought up. 

Shot after shot was fired, and one after an- 
other the Confederate cannon were disabled. 
They were blown up by small charges of powder 
put under them, set off by fuses lighted by the 
Confederates themselves, but this did not show 
in the picture, and it looked as though the South- 
ern battery was blown up by shots from the big 
gun. 

“All ready now, Paul! Lead your men!” yelled 
the director, who was standing near Russ and his 
camera. “Rush right up the hill. Stop firing 
here!’ he called to those in charge of the big gun. 

But something went wrong, or some one misun- 
derstood. As Paul was charging up the hill at the 
head of his little band, Russ, turning his head for 
an instant, saw a man about to pull the lanyard 
of the big gun. 

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he yelled. “It’s 
aimed right at Paul and his fellows!” 

But Russ was too late. The man pulled the 
cord. There was a deafening roar, a cloud of 
smoke, a sheet of fire, and a black projectile was 
sent hurtling on its way against the hill, up the 
side of which Paul was climbing with his soldiers. 





oe 
a 


CHAPTER XXI 
THE BIG SCENE 


NoTHiInc could be done! No power on earth 
could stop that projectile now until it had spent 
itself, or until it had struck something and ex- 
ploded. 

Horror-stricken, those near the big gun looked 
across the intervening space. How many would 
survive what was to follow? 

The man who had pulled the lanyard sank to 
the ground, covering his face with his hands. 

For a brief instant Paul, leading his men, 
looked back at the sound of the unexpected shot. 
He had been told that no more were to be fired. 
Doubtless, this was an extra one to make the pic- 
tures more realistic. But when he saw, in a flash, 
something black and menacing leaping through 
the air toward him and his men, instinctively he 
cried : 

“Duck, everybody! Duck!” 

He fell forward on his face and those of his 
men who heard and understood did likewise. 

171 


172 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Ruth, Alice and Estelle, who were watching 
the scene from a distant knoll, hardly understood 
what it was all about. They had thought no more 
shots would be fired when Paul began his charge, 
but one had boomed out, and surely that was a 
projectile winging its way toward the partly de- 
molished hill. 

“That is carrying realism a little too far,” said 
Ruth. “I hope ss 

“Paul has fallen!” cried Alice. “Oh—some- 
thing has happened!’ 

One must realize that all this took place at the 
same time. The firing of the shot, the realization 
that it was a mistake, Paul’s flash of the oncoming 
projectile, his command to his men and the vision 
had by the girls. All in an instant, for a shot 
from a big gun does not leave much margin of 
time between starting and arriving even when 
fired with only a small charge of powder for mov- 
ing picture purposes. 

And, so quickly had it happened that Russ had 
not stopped turning the crank of his camera, nor 
had an assistant on the hillside, where he had 
been stationed to film Paul and his soldiers. 

And then the projectile struck. Into the soft 
dirt of the hillside it buried its head, and then, 
as the explosion came, up went a shower of earth 
and stones. And ever afterward the gunner who 








THE BIG SCENE 173 


inserted that charge blessed himself and an ever- 
watchful Providence that he had put in but half 
a charge, the last of the powder. 

For it was this half-charge that saved Paul and 
his men. The projectile struck in the hill a hun- 
dred feet below where Paul was leading his force 
up the slope, and though they were well-nigh bur- 
ied beneath a rain of sand and gravel, they were 
not otherwise hurt—scratches and bruises being 
their portion. 

“What are they trying to do, kill us?” cried 
a man, staggering to his feet, blood streaming 
from a cut on his cheek. 

“This is too much like real war for me!’ yelled 
another throwing down his gun. “I’m going to 
quit !” 

“No you don’t!” shouted Paul. “Come on. It 
was a mistake. They won’t fire any more. It 
will make a great scene on the film. Come on!” 

He gave one look back toward the Union bat- 
tery and saw Mr. Pertell fluttering a white flag 
which meant safety. Waving his sword above his 
head, Paul yelled again: | 

“Come on! Come on! It’s all right! Up the 
hill with you! That shot was only to put a little 
pep in you!” 

“Pep! More like sand! I got a mouthful!” 
muttered a sergeant. 


174 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Get every inch of that. It’s the best scene 
_ we've had yet, though it was a close call!” tele- 
phoned Mr. Pertell to the operator on the side of 
the hill. “Film every inch of it!” 

“All right! [’m getting it,” answered the cam- 
era man and he went on grinding away at his 
crank. 

The explosion of the shell had, for the mo- 
ment, stopped the advance of Paul and his men 
up the hill, but this momentary halt only made it 
look more realistic—as though they really feared 
they were in danger, as indeed they had been. 
Now the director called: 

“Tt’s all right, Paul! Go ahead! Keep on just 
as 1f that was part of the show.” 

“Tt was a lively part all right!’ and Paul 
laughed grimly. “Come on, boys!” 

And the charge was resumed. 

Back of the dismantled battery, whence they 
had presumably been driven by the fire from the 
big gun, the Confederates were massed. They 
were waiting for Paul’s charge, and they, too, had 
been a little surprised by the unexpected firing of 
the shell. 

But now, in response to a signal on the field 
telephone, they prepared to resist the assault. 

“Come on, boys! Beat the Yankees back!’ was 
the battle cry that would be flashed on the screen. 


THE BIG SCENE 175 


Then came the fierce struggle, and it was nearly 
as fierce as it was indicated in the pictures. Real 
blows were given, and more than one man went 
down harder than he had expected to. There 
were duels with clubbed rifles, and fencing com- 
bats with swords, though, of course, the partici- 
pants took care not to cut one another. 

In spite of this, several received minor hurts. 
But this result only added to the effectiveness of 
the scene, though it was painful. But in provid- 
ing realism for motion pictures more than one 
conscientious player has been injured, and not a 
few have lost their lives. It is devotion of no 
small sort to their profession. 

Back and forth surged the fight, sometimes 
Paul’s men giving way, and again driving the 
Confederates back from the crest of the hill. 
Small detachments here and there fired volleys of 
blank cartridges from their rifles, but there was 
not as much of this for the close-up pictures as 
there had been for the larger battle scenes. For 
while smoke blowing over a big field on which 
hundreds of men and horses are massed makes a 
picture effective, if seen at too close range it hides 
the details of the fighting. 

And Mr. Pertell wanted the details to come out 
in this close-up scene. 

Back and forth surged the fight until it had 


176 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


run through a certain length of film, Then the 
orders came that the Confederates were to give 
up and retreat. Before this, however, a number 
of them had been killed, as had almost as many 
Union soldiers. 

Then came a spirited scene. Paul, leading his 
men, leaped up on the earthworks of the Confed- 
erate battery, cut down the Southern flag—the 
stars and bars. In its place he hoisted the stars 
and stripes, and with a wild yell that made the 
fight seem almost real, he and his men occupied 
the heights. 

“Well done!” cried Mr. Pertell, enthusiastic- 
ally, when he came over from the ramparts of the 
big gun. “Are you sure none of you was hurt 
when that shell exploded?” 

“None of us,’ answered Paul. “It fell short, 
luckily, and the dirt was soft. No big rocks were 
tossed up, fortunately, and we came out of it 
very nicely.” 

“Glad to hear it. I’ve discharged the man who 
fired the gun.” 

“That’s too bad!” 

“Well, I hired him over again—but to do some- 
thing else less dangerous. I can’t afford to take 
chances with big cannon. But I think the scene 
went off very well. That stopping and the burst- 
ing of the shell made it look very real.” 


THE BIG SCENE 177 


“That’s good,” Paul said, wiping some of the 
dirt and blood off his face, for he had been 
scratched by the point of some one’s bayonet. 

That ended this particular scene for the day, 
and the players could take a much-needed rest. 
Plenty of powder had been burned, and the air 
was rank and heavy with the fumes. 

“Are you sure you're all right, Paul?” asked 
Alice, when he came up to the farmhouse later 
in the day. 

“Well, I think I’d be better if you would feel 
my pulse,” he said, winking at Russ. “And you 
don’t need to be in a hurry to let go my hand. I 
sha’n’t need it right away.” 

“Silly !’ exclaimed Alice, as she turned, blush- 
ing, away. 

“It must have been a shock to you,” said Ruth. 

“Tt was. But it was over so quickly | didn’t 
have time to be shocked long. Now, let’s talk 
about something nice. Come on in to the town, 
and [’ll buy you all ice-cream.” 

“That will be nice!’ laughed Estelle. 

It was several days later that Mr. Pertell, com- 
ing to where the moving picture girls and their 
friends were seated on the porch, said: 

“The big scene is for to-morrow. In the hos- 
pital, This is where you are looking after the 
wounded officer, Ruth, and Alice, on pretense of 


178 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


being a nurse seeking to give aid, cgmes in to get 
the papers. I want this very carefully done, as 
it is one of the climaxes of the whole play. So 
we'll have some rehearsals in the morning.” 

“Am I to do that riding act?’ asked Estelle. 

“Yes, youll do the horse stunt as usual. 
There’s to be a cavalry charge, Miss Brown, so 
don’t get in their way and be run down.” 

“ll try not to,” she answered. 


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CHAPTER XXII 
ALICE DOES WELL 


Lone rows of wounded men lay stretched out 
on white cots in the hospital. Some wore band- 
ages over their heads all but concealing their eyes. 
Others were so entwined with white wrappings 
that it was hard to say whether they were men or 
oriental women. Still others raised themselves 
on their elbows, spasms of pain corrugating their 
brows, while red cross nurses held to their lips 
cooling drinks. 

Here at the bedside of one stood a grave sur- 
geon, slowly shaking his head as he came to the 
melancholy conclusion that a further operation 
was useless. Over there they were carrying out 
a motionless form on a stretcher, a sheet merci- 
fully draped over what was left. At the entrance 
to the hospital other bearers were carrying in 
those who came from the scene of the distant 
firing. 

The boom of big guns shook the frail shack 
that had been turned into a hospital. Now and 

179 


180 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


then, as the wind blew in fitful gusts, there was 
borne on it the acrid smell of powder. And again, 
in some dark corner of that building of suffering, 
there could be seen through the cracks, left by 
hasty builders, the flash of fire that preceded the 
booming crash of the cannon. 

A sad-faced woman in black moved slowly 
down the line of cots led by a sympathetic nurse. 
She came to one bed, stopped as though in doubt, 
passed her hand over her face as if she did not 
want to admit that what she saw she did see, and 
then she fell on her knees in a passion of weep- 
ing, while the surgeons turned away their heads. 
She had found what she had sought. 

From the farther door there entered a man, 
limping on crutches improvised from the limbs of 
a tree. Stained bandages were about one arm 
and another leg. His head, too, was wrapped so 
that only half his face showed. A hurrying or- 
derly met him. 

“You can’t come in here!’’ he cried. 

“Why not, I'd like to know. Ain’t this the 
horspital ?” 

“Of course it 1s.” 

“Then why can’t I come in here. I’m hurt, 
and hurt bad, pardner. Shot through leg and 
arm, and part of my jaw gone. Why can’t I 
come in?” 


ALICE DOES WELL 181 


“°*Cause you can’t. Didn’t we just carry you 
out for dead? What’ll the audience think if they 
see you walking again? Git on out of here!” 

“T will not! I’ve wrapped this bandage around 
my head on purpose so they won’t know me. Let 
me come in, will you? That’s real lemonade them 
pretty nurses is givin’ out to drink, and I’m as 
dry asa fish. I’ve been firin’ one of them guns 
until I’ve swallowed enough smoke to play an 
animated cannon ball. Let me in the horspital.” 

“Yes, let him in!” called Mr. Pertell through 
his megaphone. He was at the far end of the 
shack that had been hastily erected on Oak Farm 
as a hospital, for the last big scenes of the war 
play, “A Girl in Blue and A Girl in Gray.” 

“All right, just as you say,” answered the or- 
derly. “Come on in, Bill. Are you going to die 
this time?” 

“Tam not! I’m going to be one of them con- 
verts, and get chicken sandwiches and jelly.” 

“You mean convalescent.” 

“Um. That’s it! Lead me to me bed, will 
you, for I’m a sadly wounded old soldier—that’s 
what I am.” 

Amid laughter he was led to a cot, where a 
smiling nurse tucked him in between the yellow 
sheets. For, as has been said, yellow takes the 
place of white in inside scenes. 


182 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


And this was an inside scene, powerful electric 
lights dispelling all shadows so the cameras could 
film every motion and expression. 

“Now remember!” called Mr. Pertell when the 
“wounded man,’ one of the extra players, had 
been comfortably put to bed, ‘remember no smil- 
ing or laughing when we begin to make the pic- 
ture. ‘This is supposed to be serious.”’ 

The rehearsal went on and finally the director 
announced that he was satisfied. Then the scenes 
were enacted over again, but with more tenseness 
and with a knowledge that every motion was being 
filmed with startling exactness. , 

“Now, Ruth, you come on!” called Mr. Pertell. 
“We've made a little change from the original 
scenario. You're to relieve Miss Dixon, who has 
been on this case. He’s one of the Northern of- 
ficers, you remember, and he has with him papers 
that the Confederacy would do much to get. 

“They are under the officer’s pillow, you know. 
He is afraid to let them out of his possession. 
You must humor him, though you know that the 
papers will soon have to be taken away as he is to 
be operated on. It is here that Alice, as the spy, 
gets her chance. She pretends to be one of the 
nurses of this hospital, dons the uniform, and 
comes in here to get the papers. Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” answered Ruth. 





ALICE DOES WELL 183 


Then the big hospital scene began. 

Ruth, in her garb of a nurse, took her place at 
the side of the injured officer’s cot. She felt his 
pulse, took his temperature and administered some 
medicine. Then the injured man, who was Mr. 
DeVere himself, sank back on his pillows. His 
hand went under the mass of feathers and brought 
out a packet of papers. At this point a close-up 
view was taken, showing on the screen the papers 
in magnified shape, so that the audience could note 
that they were Civil War documents. It was 
these that the officer was afraid would fall into 
the hands of the Confederates, so he kept them 
ever near him. 

Ruth made as if to remove them when he had 
placed them under the pillow again, but he awoke 
with a start and prevented her. This was to show 
that it was necessary for some one to take them 
while the operation was being performed. 

Then the scene changed to show Alice prepar- 
ing for her work asa spy. The camera was taken 
to another part of the hospital, Ruth and her 
father having a respite, though they maintained 
their positions. 

“Did I do all right, Daddy?” asked Ruth. 

“Very well, indeed. You are getting to be a 
good actress. I wish you were on the speaking 
stage.” 


184 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“T like this ever so much better. I never could 
_ speak before a whole crowd.” 

Alice was shown making her way into the hos- 
pital, a previous scene having depicted her as 
promising the Confederate officer in whose employ 
as a spy she was, that she would get the papers. 
She entered the hospital, pretending to be in 
search of a missing relative. Then, watching her 
chance, she prepared a sleeping powder for a tired 
and half-sleeping nurse off duty and prepared to 
take her uniform. 

Alice played her part well. The sleeping nurse 
aroused, took the drugged drink, and went more 
soundly to sleep than ever. Then Alice was 
shown in the act of taking off the uniform. An- 
other scene showed her walking boldly into the 
ward room to relieve Ruth. 

There was a little scene between the two sisters, 
and Ruth registered that Alice must be very care- 
ful not to alarm or shock the wounded man who 
was soon to undergo the operation. 

Alice acquiesced, and then sat down beside the 
cot. Slowly and carefully, like some pickpocket, 
she inserted her fingers under the pillow. Amid 
a tenseness that affected even the actors working 
with her, Alice took out the papers, inch by inch, 
and began to move away with them. 

It was at this point that she was to be discov- 


ALICE DOES WELL 185 


ered by Paul, in the next bed. He had, in a pre- 
vious scene, supposed to have taken place several 
months before, saved Alice’s life, and they had 
fallen in love, Alice promising to wed him after 
the war. He supposed her to be a true Northern 
girl, and now he discovered that she was a South- 
ern spy. 

There was a strong scene here. Paul leaped 
from his bed, and tried to get the papers away 
from Alice. She, horror-stricken at being discov- 
ered as a spy by her lover, is torn between af- 
fection for him and duty to the South. She 
throws him from her, as he is weakened by ill- 
ness, and is about to escape with the papers, when 
she fears Paul is dying and she is stricken with 
remorse. She decides to give up her task for the 
sake of her lover. 

Slowly and softly, without awakening the old 
officer, she puts the papers back under his pillow 
and then, stooping over Paul, who has fainted 
from loss of blood, she kisses his forehead and 
goes out in a “fadeaway.” 

“Good! Great! Couldn’t be better!” cried Mr. 
Pertell, as Alice came out of range of the camera. 
“That was better than I dared to hope. This will 
make a big hit!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 
A BAD FALL 


“HAVE you made up your mind yet, Estelle?” 

“No, Ruth! I haven’t. I don’t know what to 
do.” 

The two girls were in Estelle’s room. Miss 
Brown was putting some protective padding under 
her outer garments, for in a little while she was 
to take part in a desperate ride—one of the last 
scenes in the big war play—a ride that had a part 
in a cavalry charge that was to be made by the 
desperate Confederates on the hosts of Unionists, 
who were closing in on their enemies. It was to 
be the last battle—a final stand of the Southern 
States, and they were to lose. 

But Estelle was to make a desperate ride to 
try to save the day. This time she was to pose 
as a daughter of the South. The ride would 
necessarily be a reckless one, and Estelle felt that 
she might fall; so she was preparing for it. 

“TI don’t know what to do,” she went on to 
Ruth, who was helping her. “Sometimes I feel 

186 


A BAD FALL 187 


like doing as you and your sister suggest, and let 
your father into the secret—and Mr. Pertell too— 
and have them try what they can do to discover 
who I am. 

“Then again, as I think it over, I’m afraid. 
Suppose I should turn out to be some one alto- 
gether horrid?” 

“You couldn’t, my dear, not if you tried. But 
if you don’t want my father to know, and would 
rather work out this mystery yourself, why, I 
won't say another word.” 

“I want to think about it a little more,” Estelle 
said. 

They had been talking about her strange case, 
and the possible outcome of it. Alice had sug- 
gested that a motion picture story be written 
around it. 

“It could be called ‘Who is Estelle Brown?” 
Alice said, ‘‘and it could be a serial. You could 
pose in it, Estelle, and make a lot of money. And, 
not only that, but you’d find out who your rela- 
tives were, I’m sure.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do it!’ Estelle had cried. “I'd 
like the money, of course. I never was so happy 
as when I found I had a purse full when I was 
on that Cleveland boat! But I could not capital- 
ize my misfortune that way.” 

“No, I was only joking,” said Alice. And so 


188 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


the matter had gone on. Now Ruth had broached 
_ the subject again, and Estelle was still undecided. 

“Wait until after this big ride of mine,” she 
said. “Then I'll make up my mind. I really do 
want to know who I am, and I think, after this 
engagement, if I don’t find out before, Pll go to 
Boston again. I’m sure my people are from that 
vicinity.” 

So it was left. 


From outside came the stirring notes of a bugle. 


At the sound of it Ruth and Estelle started. 

“That’s the signal,’ said the latter. “I must 
hurry.” 

“Tl help you,” offered Ruth, and she assisted 
in the tying of the last strings, and the snapping 
of the final fastenings of the suit of protective 
padding the rider wore. 

“You don’t take part in the actual charge, do 
you?” asked Alice, who came in at this point. 

‘Well, I have to ride ahead of the Union forces 
for a way,’ Estelle answered. “But U’m not 
afraid. Petro will carry me safely, as he has done 
before.”’ 

The girls went down and out into the yard. 
Off on the distant meadow of Oak Farm, which 
had been turned into a battlefield for the time 
being, were two hostile armies. The two regi- 
ments of cavalry were to meet in a final clash that 


A BAD FALL 189 


was to end the war. There was to be the firing 
of many rifles and cannon. There were to be 
charges and countercharges. Men would fall from 
their horses shot dead. Certain horses, trained 
for the work, would stumble and fall, going down 
with those who rode them, the men having learned 
how to roll out of the way without getting a 
broken arm or leg. In spite of their training and 
practice, nearly all expected to be scratched and 
bruised. However, it was all part of the game 
and in the day’s work. | 

“All ready now!” called Mr. Pertell. “We're 
going to have the first skirmish, and, after that, 
Miss Brown, you are to do your ride. Are you 
ready?” 

“Yes,” Estelle told the director. 

The signal was given through the field tele- 
phone and then, with his ever-present megaphone, 
the director began to issue his orders. 

The rifles cracked, the big guns rumbled and 
roared, smoke blew across the battlefield and 
horses snorted and pawed at the ground impatient 
to be off and in the charge. To them it was real, 
even though their masters knew it was only for 
the movies. 

Bugles tooted their inspiring calls, and the of- 
ficers, who knew the significance of the cadence of 
notes, issued their orders accordingly. 


190 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Deploy to the left!” came the command to a 
squad of Union cavalry, and the men trotted off, 
to try a flank movement. Then came the firing 
of a Confederate battery in a desperate attempt 
to scatter the Union forces. 

All the camera men in the employ of the Comet 
Film Company were engaged this day, and Russ 
was at his wits’ end to keep each machine loaded 
with film, and to see that his own was working 
properly. 

Pop Snooks had never before been called on to 
provide so many “props” as he was for this occa- 
sion, but he thoroughly enjoyed the work, and 
when, at the last minute, he had to make a rustic 
bridge whereon two lovers had a farewell before 
the soldier rode off to battle, the veteran property 
man improvised one out of bean poles and fence 
rails that made a most artistic picture. 

“They'll have to get up the day before break- 
fast to beat Pop Snooks!” exclaimed Russ, ad- 
miringly. 

All was now ready for the big cavalry charge. 

“All ready!” came the order from Mr. Pertell. 
“Cameras!” 

And the cranks began to work, reeling off the 
sensitive film. 

The two bodies of cavalry rushed toward one 
another, hoofs thundering, carbines cracking, 


A BAD FALL IQI 


sabres flashing in the sun, white puffs of smoke 
showing where the cannon were firing. 

“Now Miss Brown!” yelled the director, above 
the riot of noise. “This is where you make the 
ride of your life!” 

“All right!” answered the brave girl, and, giv- 
ing rein to her horse, she dashed off ahead of a 
detachment of cavalry that was to try to intercept 
her. 

On and on rode Estelle. Ruth and Alice, who 
had finished their part in this scene, stood on a 
little hill, watching her. 

On and on dashed Estelle, doing her part well, 
and foot after foot of the film registered her ac- 
tion. She was almost at the end now. She 
reached the Confederate ranks, gave over the 
message she had carried through such danger, 
and then, turning her horse, dashed away. 

How it happened no one could tell. But sud- 
denly Petro stumbled, and though Estelle tried 
to keep him on his feet she could not. 

“Oh—oh!” gasped Ruth. “Look!” and then 
she turned her head away so as not to see. 

Alice had a flash of Estelle flying over the head 
of her falling horse, and then, unable to stop, the 
rushing soldiers on their horses rode over the very 
place where Estelle had fallen. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
A DENIAL OF IDENTITY 


CoNFUSED shouts, cries, and orders echoed over 
the field. Mr. Pertell, dropping his megaphone, 
rushed toward the scene of the accident, calling 
on Russ to follow and yelling back an order to 
have the stretcher men and the doctor follow him. 

Dr. Wherry was even then waiting in readiness, 
for it had been feared that this big scene might 
result painfully, if not dangerously, for more than 
one. Some men had also been detailed as 
stretcher bearers and were in waiting. 

“Shall we film this?’ asked one of Russ’s help- 
ers, as the former dashed past on his way to help 
Estelle. 

“No. Don’t take that accident. It won't fit 
in with the rest of the film. It’s all right up to 
that point, though. We can make a retake of the 
last few feet if we have to.” 

Even in this time of danger and suspense it was 
necessary to think of the play. That must go on, 
no matter what happened to the players. 

192 


A DENIAL OF IDENTITY 193 


“Go on with the cavalry charge—farther over!” 
directed Mr. Pertell, when he arrived on the scene 
and found a group of men about the fallen girl. 
“You can’t do any good here. We'll look after 
her. I can’t delay any longer on this scene. Go 
on with the charge, and carry out the program as 
it was outlined to you. Russ, you look after the 
camera men.” 

“What about Estelle?” 

“Dr. Wherry and I will see to her.”’ 

The girl’s golden hair was tumbled about her 
head, having come loose and fallen from under 
her hat in her fall. She lay in a senseless heap at 
one side of her horse. The animal had not gotten 
up, and at first it was thought he had been killed. 
But it developed that Estelle had trained him to 
play “dead” after a fall of this kind, and the in- 
telligent creature must have thought this was one 
of those occasions. 

“Easy with her, boys,” cautioned the director, 
as the stretcher men tenderly picked up the limp © 
form. “She may have some broken bones.” 

They placed her carefully on the stretcher and 
bore her to the hospital Mrs. Maguire was 
ready to assist the trained nurse, who was kept 
ready for just such emergencies. 

“The poor little dear!’ exclaimed the motherly 
Irish woman. “Poor little dear!” 


b 


194 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Meanwhile, the cavalry charge went on. Es- 
_telle had done her part in this. Was it the last 
part she was to play? 

Ruth and Alice asked themaeta this as they 
hurried toward the hospital. 

“Oh, if she should be killed!” gasped Ruth. 

“Wouldn’t it be dreadful? And no one to tell 
who she really is,” added Alice. “We must go 
to her.” 

“Yes, as soon as they will let us see her,” agreed 
Ruth. 

Dr. Wherry and the trained nurse were busy 
over the injured girl. A quick examination dis- 
closed no broken bones, but it could not yet be 
told whether or not there were internal injuries. 
They could only wait for her to recover con- 
sciousness and hope for the best. All that could 
be done was done. 

“Plucky little girl!” murmured Mr. Pertell, 
when told that Estelle was resting easily, but was 
still insensible. ‘She must have seen that she was 
going to have a bad fall, but she kept on and saved 
the film for us. We won’t have to retake her 
scene at all—merely cut out the accident. Do 
your best for her, Dr. Wherry.” 

“T will, you may be sure.” 

Ruth and Alice were told that they could see 
Estelle as soon as she recovered consciousness, and 


A DENIAL OF IDENTITY 195 


it was safe for visitors to be admitted. And sev- 
eral hours after the accident the nurse, Miss Lyon, 
came to summon them from their room, where 
they were waiting. 

“She has opened her eyes,’”’ Miss Lyon said. 

“Did she ask for us?” Alice asked. 

“TI can’t say that she did. She seems dazed yet. 
Sometimes in falls like this, where the head is in- 
jured, it is days before the patient realizes what 
has happened.” 

“Is her head injured?” Ruth inquired. 

“Yes, she seems to have received a hard blow 
on it. Whether there is a fracture or a concus- 
sion Dr. Wherry had not yet determined. It will 
take a little time to decide. Meanwhile, you may 
see her, just for a moment.” 

Alice and Ruth softly entered the room where 
Estelle lay on a white bed. Her face was pale, 
but her eyes were bright. There was a subtle 
odor of disinfectants, of opiates and of other 
drugs in the room—a veritable hospital atmos- 
phere. 

“Don’t startle her,” cautioned the nurse, mo- 
tioning for silence. 

“We'll be careful,” promised Alice, in a whis- 
per. | 
The two sisters approached the bed. Estelle 
looked at them but, strange to say, there was no 


196 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


look of recognition in her eyes. Ruth and Alice 
might have been two strangers for all the notice 
- Estelle took of them. 

““She—she doesn’t know us,” whispered Ruth. 

“She will, as soon as you speak,” said Miss 
Lyon. “Just talk to her in a low voice, but natur- 
ally. She'll know you then, I’m sure.” 

“How—how are you feeling?” asked Ruth, in 
a whisper. 7 

There was no response—no light of recognition 
in the eyes. 

“A little louder and call her by name,” sug- 
gested the nurse. 

“You try, Alice,” Ruth whispered. 

Her sister stepped to the bedside. 

“Estelle, don’t you know me?” Alice asked. 

The eyes turned in the direction of the voice. 

“Were you speaking to me?’ came the question, 
and both Ruth and Alice started at the changed 
tones of their friend. 

“Yes, to you,” Alice answered. 

“I—I dowt know you,” was the gentle re- 
sponse. 

“Don’t you know me—Alice DeVere? And 
this is my sister, Ruth. Don’t you know us, Es- 
teller’ 

“Is your name Estelle?” came the query. 

“No, that is your name,” and Alice smiled, 


A DENIAL OF IDENTITY 107 


though a cold hand seemed to be clutching at her 
heart. “That is your name—you are Estelle. 
Don’t you remember ?” 

“Estelle what? Who is Estelle?” 

“You are. Youare Estelle Brown! Don’t you 
iknow your own name?” 

The golden head on the white pillow was 
slowly moved from side to side. The bright eyes 
showed no sign of recognition. Then came the 
gentle voice: 

“T.am not Estelle Brown. I don’t know her. 
What do you mean? I don’t know any of you. 
Why am I here? What has happened? I wish 
you would take me home at once. I live at the 
Palace.” 

“What—what does she mean?” gasped Ruth, 
looking in alarm at the nurse. 

“J don’t know. Perhaps she is delirious and 
imagines she is playing in the moving pictures. 
Was there a palace scene?” 

“Not since she joined the company. But why 
does she deny her identity ?”’ 

“T can not say. Sometimes after an injury 
like this happens, people say queer things. We 
had better not disturb her further. [ll call Dr. 
Wherry.” 

Alice made one more effort to bring recollection 
to Estelle. 


198 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Don’t you know me, dear?” she asked softly. 
“T am Alice—your friend Alice. This is Ruth, 
and you are Estelle Brown, from Boston, you 
know.” 

“Boston? I was never in Boston. And I am 
not Estelle Brown. You must be mistaken.” 

Her eyes roved around the hospital room, and 
a look of pain and fright dimmed them. Then, 
seeming to fear that she had been unkind, she 
said gently to Alice: 

“TI am sorry I do not know you, for you are 
trying to help me, Iam sure. But I never heard 
the name Estelle Brown. I am not she—that is 
certain. If you would only take me home! My 
people will be worried. We live at the Palace 
and ms 

She tried to raise herself up in bed. A look of 
pain came over her face, and she fell back with 
closed eyes. 

“She has fainted!” cried Miss Lyon. “I must 
get Dr. Wherry at once! Don’t disturb her!’ 

She hastened off, while Ruth and Alice, not 
knowing what to think, went softly from the 
room. 





CHAPTER XXV 
REUNION 


“NOTHING but a passing fancy,’ said Dr. 
Wherry, later in the day, when Ruth and Alice 
questioned him about Estelle. “When a person 
has received a hard blow on the head, as Estelle 
has, the memory is often confused. She will be 
all right ina day or so. Rest and quiet are what 
she needs.” 

“Then she is in no immediate danger?” asked 
Mr. Pertell. 

“None whatever, physically. She came out of 
that fall very well, indeed. The blow on her head 
stunned her, but the effects of that will pass away. 
She has no internal injuries that I can discover.” 

The last scenes of the war play were taken. 
The Confederates, after their final desperate stand 
were driven back, surrounded and captured. The 
“war” ended. 

The regiments of cavalry took their departure. 
The extra players were paid off and left. A few 
simple scenes were yet to be taken about Oak 

199 


200 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


Farm, but the big work was over, and every one 
was glad, for the task had been no easy one. 

“Does Estelle yet admit her identity?” asked 

Ruth of Dr. Wherry, two days after the accident. 

The physician scratched his head in perplexity. 

“No, I am sorry to say she doesn’t,” he an- 
swered. “She does not seem to recognize that 
name. I wish you and your sister would come 
in and speak to her again. It may be she will 
recognize you this time. A little shock may bring 
her to herself. I have seen it happen in cases like 
this.” 

Ruth and Alice again went to the hospital. Es- 
telle was still in bed, but she seemed to be better. 
But, as before, there was no sign of recognition 
in the bright eyes that gazed at the two moving 
picture girls. 

“Don’t you know me—us?” asked Alice, gently. — 

“Yes. You were here before, soon after I was 
brought here,” was the answer. 

“Oh, Estelle! don’t you know us!” cried Ruth, 
in horror. 

“Whom are you calling Estelle?” 

“Why, you. That is your name.” 

“Tam not she. You must be mistaken! Oh, I 
wish they would take me home. I want father— 
mother—I want Auntie Amma. Oh, why don’t 
they come to me?” 


REUNION 201 


Ruth and Alice looked at one another. What 
did it mean? This babbling of strange names? 
Was it possible that they were on the track of dis- 
covering the identity of the girl who now denied 
the name she had given? 

“Who is your father?” asked Ruth. 

“And who is Auntie Amma?” inquired Alice. 

“Why, don’t you know? They live with me 
at the Palace. And my doll. Why don’t you 
bring my doll?” 

“She is delirious again,’ whispered the nurse. 
“You had better go. Evidently, she thinks she is 
a child again. Her doll!” 

“T want my doll! Why don’t you bring me my 
doll?” persisted the stricken girl. 

“What doll do you want?” asked Alice. 

“My own doll,” was the reply. “My dear doll 
that I always have in bed with me when I am 
ill; my doll Estelle Brown!” 

“Estelle Brown!” cried Ruth, in sudden excite- 
ment. “Is that the name of your doll?” 

“Yes! Yes! Bring her to me, please!’ 

“Who gave you that doll?” asked Ruth, and 
she waited anxiously for the answer. 

“My doll—my doll Estelle Brown. Why, my 
daddy gave her to me, of course. My father!” 

“And what was your father’s name?” asked 
Ruth in a tense voice. 


bd 


202 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


She and Alice and the nurse leaned forward in 
eager expectation. They all recognized that a 
crisis was at hand. Would the stricken girl give 
an answer that would be a clue to her identity— 
the identity she had denied? Or would her words 
trail off into the meaningless babble of the af- 
flicted? 3 

“What is your father’s name?” Ruth repeated. 

The girl in the bed raised herself to a sitting 
position. She looked at the DeVere sisters—at 
the trained nurse. In her eyes now there was not 
so much brightness as there was weariness and 
pain. | 

And also there was more of the light of under- 
standing. She looked from one to the other. Her 
lips moved, but no sound came from them. It was 
a tense moment. Would she be able to answer? 
Would the obviously injured brain be able to sift 
out the right reply from the mass of words that 
hitherto had been meaningless? 

“What is your father’s name?” repeated Ruth 
in calm, even tones. “Your father who gave you 
the doll, Estelle Brown? Who is he?” 

Like a flash of lightning from the clear sky 
came the answer. 

“Why, he is Daddy Passamore, of course!” 

“Passamore!” gasped Alice. ‘“‘Passamore?” 

“Is your name Passamore?” whispered Ruth. 


REUNION 203 


“Yes, Iam Mildred Passamore. My father is 
Jared Passamore of San Francisco. I don’t know 
why I am here, except that I was hurt in the rail- 
road accident. If you will telegraph to my father, 
at the Palace Hotel, San Francisco, he will come 
and get me. And please tell him to bring my 
doll, Estelle Brown. 

“T know it seems silly for a big girl like me to 
have a doll,” went on the injured one. “But ever 
since I was a child I have had Estelle with me 
when I was ill. Iam ill now, but I feel better 
than I did. So telegraph to Daddy Passamore 
to bring Estelle Brown with him when he comes 
forme. And tell him I was not badly hurt in the 
wreck,” 

And with that, before the wondering eyes of 
the nurse, of Alice and of Ruth, Estelle Brown— 
no—Mildred Passamore, turned over and calmly 
went to sleep! | 

For an instant those in the hospital room 
neither moved nor spoke. Then Alice cried: 

“That solves it! That ends the mystery! I'll 
go and get the paper.” 

“What paper?” asked Ruth. 

“Don’t you remember? The old paper that I 
wrapped my scout shoes in when we were packing 
to come to Oak Farm. The one that father saved 
because it had a theatrical notice of him in it. 


204. MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Tt was that four-year-old paper which con- 
tained an account of the strange disappearance of 
the wealthy San Francisco girl, Mildred Passa- 
more. Don’t you remember? There was a re- 
ward of ten thousand dollars offered for her 
discovery.” 

“Oh, I do remember!” gasped Ruth. “And this 
is she!” 

“Must be!” declared Alice. ‘She says that’s 
her name. And from what she told us she can, as 
Estelle Brown, think back only about four years. 
She must have received some injury that took 
away her memory. Now she is herself again. 

“Ruth, I believe we have found the missing 
Mildred Passamore! We must tell daddy at once, 
and Mr. Pertell. Then we must telegraph Mr. 
Passamore. I'll get his address from the old 
paper. But the Palace Hotel, San Francisco, will 
reach him, I presume. Oh, isn’t it all wonderful!’ 

“Tt certainly is,” agreed Ruth. 

They gave one glance at the sleeping girl— 
Mildred or Estelle—and then went out, while 
Miss Lyon summoned Dr. Wherry to acquaint 
him with the strange turn of the case. 

“Mildred Passamore found! How wonderful!” 
exclaimed Mr. DeVere, when his daughters told 
him what had happened. “But we must make 
sure. It would be a sad affair if we sent word te 


REUNION 205 


the father, and it turned out that this girl was 
not his daughter. We must make sure.” 

Alice got out the old paper. It contained a 
description of the missing Mildred Passamore, 
and in another newspaper dated a few days before 
the one Alice had used as a wrapper for her shoes 
(another paper which Mr. DeVere had saved be- 
cause of a notice in it) was a picture of the girl. 

“It is she! Our girl—the one we knew as Es- 
telle Brown—is Mildred Passamore!” cried Alice 
as she looked at the picture in the paper. 

“There is no doubt of it,” agreed Ruth, and 
Mr. DeVere affirmed his daughters’ opinions. 

Mr. Pertell was told of the occurrence, and, 
being a good judge of pictures and persons, he 
decided there was no doubt as to the identity. 

“We will telegraph to Mr. Passamore at once,” 
decided the director. 

The crisis—for such it was in the case of the 
injured girl—seemed to mark a turn for the bet- 
ter. She slept nearly forty-eight hours, awaken- 
ing only to take a little nourishment. Then she 
slept again. She did not again mention any 
names, nor, in fact, anything else. Her friends 
could only wait for the arrival of Mr. Passamore 
to have him make sure of the identity. 

He had sent a message in answer to the one 
from Mr. Pertell saying that he and his wife were 


206 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


hastening across the continent in a special train. 

“That means he hasn’t found his daughter up 
to this time,” said the manager, “and there is 
every chance that this girl is she.” 

Three days after her startling announcement 
Kstelle or Mildred, as she was variously called, 
was much better. She sat up and seemed to be 
in her right mind. 

“T don’t in the least know what it is all about, 
nor how I came here,” she said, smiling. “The 
last I remember is being in a railroad train on 
my way from San Francisco to visit relatives in 
Seattle. There was a crash, and the next I knew 
I found myself in bed here. I presume you 
brought me here from the train wreck.” 

“Yes, you were brought here after the—the— 
ah, accident,” said Mr. Pertell, lamely. 

“The nurse tells me you are a moving picture 
company,” went on Mildred. “TI shall be inter- 
ested to see how you act. I always had a half- 
formed desire to be a moving picture actress, but 
I know Daddy Passamore would never consent 
tovit..’ 

‘“‘And she’s been in the films for three years 
or more, and doesn’t remember a thing about it!” 
murmured Alice. ‘“Good-night!” 

“Alice!” rebuked her sister. But Alice, for 
once, did not care for Ruth’s rebuke. Her aston- 


REUNION 207 


ishment was too great. And it was a queer case. 

“We must be very careful!’ said Dr. Wherry 
when, after a swift ride across the continent, Mr. 
Passamore and his wife reached Oak Farm. “We 
must not startle the patient.” 

“Oh, but I want to see my little girl!’ cried the 
mother, with tears in her eyes, ‘My little girl 
whom I thought gone for ever!” 

“T hope this will prove to be she,” said Mr. 
DeVere. 

“T’m sure it will!’ cried the father. ‘No one 
but Mildred would remember her old doll—Es- 
telle Brown!” and he held up a battered toy. 

Softly, the parents entered the room. The girl 
on the bed heard some one come in, and sat up. 
There was a look of joy and happiness on her 
face; and yet it was not such as would come after 
a separation of four years. It was as if she had 
only separated from her loved ones a few hours 
before. | 

“Oh, Daddy! Momsey!” she cried. “TI did so 
want you! And did you bring Estelle Brown?” 

“My little girl! My own little lost girl!” cried 
Mrs. Passamore. ‘Oh, after all these years— 
when we had given you up for dead!” 

“After all these years? Why, Momsey, I left 
you only two days ago to go to Seattle. There 
must have been a wreck or something; for I heard 


208 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


a dreadful crash, and then I awakened here with 
these nice moving picture folk. They were on the 
- same train, I guess.” 

Dr. Wherry made the parents a signal not to 
tell the secret just yet. 

“And did you bring Estelle?” asked Mildred. 

“Yes, here is your doll!” and as Mr. Passamore 
handed it to his daughter he and his wife ex- 
changed tearful glances of joy. The lost had 
been found. 

It was a scene of rejoicing at Oak Farm, and 
the moving picture girls came in for a big share 
of praise. For had it not been for the fact that 
Alice had seen the paper containing the account 
of the missing girl and saved it, the identity of 
Mildred might not have been disclosed for some 
time. 

Finally, she was told what had happened; that 
for four years she had been another person— 
Estelle Brown—a name she had taken after the 
awakening following the railroad accident because 
of some kink in the brain that retained the mem- 
ory of the doll. 

“Then Lieutenant Varley was right, he must 
have seen you in Portland,” said Alice, when ex- 
planations were being made. 

“He must have,” admitted Mildred. “But I 
don’t understand how it happened.” 


REUNION 209 


Later on it was all made. clear. 

Mildred Passamore, the daughter of a wealthy 
family, living temporarily at the Palace Hotel, 
in San Francisco, had started on a trip to visit 
relatives in Seattle. She was well supplied with 
money. 

The train Mildred was on was wrecked near 
Portland, Oregon, and the girl received a blow on 
her head that caused her to lose her sense of iden- 
tity completely. She did not seem to be hurt, and 
she was not in need of medical aid. Without as- 
sistance, she got on the relief train that took the 
injured in to Portland, and there it was that Lieu- 
tenant Varley saw her in the station. 

Through some vagary of her brain, Mildred 
imagined she wanted to go to New York, and, as 
she had plenty of money, she bought a ticket for 
that city, the one to Seattle having been lost. 
Lieutenant Varley had helped her and, though he 
suspected something was wrong with the young 
lady the impression with him was not very strong 
until it was too late to be of assistance to her. 

So, her identity completely lost, Mildred started 
on ‘her trip across the continent. What happened 
on that journey she never could recollect clearly. 
That she got on the Great Lakes and then went to 
Boston was established. The reason for that was 
that, as a child, she had lived there. This ac- 


210 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


counted for the toilet set her mother had given 
her, and for the recollection of the monument and 
the historic places. 

Why she was attracted to moving pictures could 
only be guessed at, but she “broke in,” and “made 
good.” Her ability to ride was easily explained. 
Her father owned a big stock farm, and Mildred 
had ridden since a child. But all this, as well as 
other remembrances of her younger days, was lost 
after the injury to her head in the railroad acci- 
dent. She retained but one strongly marked mem- 
ory—the name of her doll, the name which she 
took for her own. 

So, as a new personage, ue came to Oak Farm, 
unable to think back more than four years, and 
totally without suspicion that she was the missing 
Mildred Passamore. That she was not recog- 
nized as the missing girl was not strange, since 
the search in the East had not been prosecuted as 
vigorously as it had been in the West. 

Mr. and Mrs. Passamore, hearing that the train 
on which their daughter was traveling had been 
wrecked, hastened to Portland, but there they 
could find no trace of Mildred. Lieutenant Var- 
ley, who might have given a clue, .had sailed for 
Europe the day after his meeting with Mildred. 
Then began the search which lasted four years, 
and had now come to an end at Oak Farm. 


REUNION 211 


“And to think that I have been two persons all 
this while!” exclaimed Mildred, when explana- 
tions had been made, and she was on the road to 
recovery. “But what made my memory come 
back ?” 

“The same thing that took it from you,’ ex- 
plained Dr. Wherry. “It was the blow you re- 
ceived on the head when you fell from your horse. 
There had been a pressure on your brain, from the 
railroad crash, and the fall from your horse re- 
lieved it, so you came to yourself.” 

“Oh, I wonder if I could have taken Miss Dix- 
on’s ring in my second personality?” asked Mil- 
dred one day, when various happenings were 
being explained to her. 

“No, you didn’t!’ exclaimed Alice. “It was 
found down under the carpet, back of her bureau. 
A maid discovered it there when cleaning. And 
that snip of a Miss Dixon left without apologizing 
to you.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, since I am not Estelle 
Brown, and my doll doesn’t care what they say 
about her!” laughed Mildred. Miss Dixon and 
her friend had left Oak Farm to go back to New 
York, for their part in the pictures was finished 
for the time being. 

“And to think that I really became a movie ac- 
tress, after all!’ laughed Estelle. “I think I shall 


212 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


continue in it, Daddy! It must be fun, though I 
don’t recollect anything about it.” 

“No you sha’n’t!’ laughed Mr. Passamore. 
“Your mother and I want you at home for a 
while.” 

There is little more to tell. 

Mildred Passamore rapidly recovered her 
health and strength. Her part in the pictures was 
finished and though he did not exactly relish the 
appearance on the screen of his daughter in battle 
scenes, the millionaire, realizing what his refusal 
would mean to Mr. Pertell, made no objections. 
Besides, it was Estelle Brown who was filmed, not 
Miss Passamore. 

“Well, what is next on the program?” asked 
Alice of the director one day, after several other 
war plays had been made and when they were 
about to leave Oak Farm, to go back to New 
York. 

“Oh, I think I’m going to get out a big film en- 
titled ‘Life in the Slums.’ You and Ruth will 
play the star parts.” 

“No!” laughed Alice. “Not since we became 
millionaires. You will have to cast us for rich 
girls. Mr. Passamore gave us the ten thousand 
dollars reward, you know.” 

“All right!’ laughed the director, “then [’ll bill 
you as the rich-poor girls.” 


REUNION 213 


Before going back to San Francisco with Mil- 
dred, Mr. Passamore had insisted that Ruth and 
Alice take the reward, as it was through their 
agency that he received word of his daughter’s 
whereabouts. But Ruth and Alice insisted on 
sharing their good fortune with their friends in 
the company, so all benefited from it. 

The day came for the moving picture players to 
leave Oak Farm. 

“Good-bye, Sandy!” called Alice to the young 
farmer. “I suppose you're glad to see the last of 
us!” 

“Well, not exactly, no’m! Still, Pll be glad 
not to see houses and barns that have only fronts 
to ’em, and there won’t be no more mistakes made 
trying to haul up water from a well that’s only 
made of painted muslin. I'll try an’ get back to 
real life for a change!’ 

The big war play was over. It was a big suc- 
cess when shown on the screen, and the pictures 
of Ruth, Alice and Mildred—or Estelle Brown, as 
she was billed—came out well. The fight where 
Paul and his men were nearly blown up was most 
realistic. 

“You girls are not going to retire, just because 
you have a little money, are you?” asked Russ of 
Ruth, one day, when they were back in New 
York. 


214 MOVING PICTURE GIRLS IN WAR PLAYS 


“Indeed, we're not!” cried Alice. “And I 
wouldn’t be surprised if Mildred joined us. I 
had a letter from her the other day, and, after 
seeing herself on the screen, she says she is crazy 
to do it all over again. Give up the movies? 
Never !” 

And it remains for time to show what further 
fame the Moving Picture Girls won in the silent 
drama. For the present, we will say farewell. 


THE END 


— 








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